


*smiley face* *wink face* *heart face* *Explosion*

by Still_Not_King



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (sometimes), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, But it feels weird to have all the buildup without anyone getting laid, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Children's Stories, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bucky Barnes, HE IS, Just a chapter, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff, Sam Wilson is So Done, Sam is a Saint, Shuri Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Texting, Writer Bucky Barnes, a beautiful idiot, also some smut, however, just a bit of Angst, lots of texting, you can skip it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_Not_King/pseuds/Still_Not_King
Summary: Bucky and Steve were best friends all through school. But something happened.Years later, Bucky is the beleaguered author of the hit (but unfinished) series "The Winter Soldier." But he can't get a publisher to pick up the phone. He hits a break when his agent, Shuri At'Chaka, makes contact with an old acquaintance who just happens to be opening his own kids' publishing house. He even has an in-house illustrator. They just need copy.Steve has been quietly living his life in Brooklyn ever since he graduated from NYU, and the decision to come on board when his best friend Sam decides to quit Penguin and start his own shop is easy. But what happens when he finds out that the author of his FAVORITE series has the potential to work with them? And what happens if he finds out exactly WHO is behind the pen-name James Rodgers?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, with Endgame in the world now, I thought it was time to bust out THIS little bad boy. It's been sitting on my hard-drive nearly finished for about a year now, so I'm editing the chapters and uploading them every day or two.
> 
> I don't own these characters. They do what they want :-)  
> (even if I try to tell them it's a terrible idea)

“BUCKYBAAHNES!”

 

James Buchanan Barnes wrenched the happily shrieking phone from his ear. “Jesus, Shuri, what did I ever do to deserve you?” he shouted in the general direction of the speaker. Even so, he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice, despite his best friend's decision to throw all cell phone etiquette out the window. “What’s going on? How’s DC? How’s T'Challa? You guys make your annual pilgrimage to the dinos yet?” He sipped his coffee and paused MasterChef Junior so Shuri wouldn’t recognize Gordon Ramsay's voice. (Last time she caught him binge-watching food competition shows she’d signed him up for cooking classes in her version of a joke. Joke was on her - he’d never seen a woman so excited about baklava in his life).

 

When Shuri At’Chaka laughed it sounded like bells.  “James, what in the world did I ever do to deserve  _ you _ ? Washington is fine. It always makes me laugh what you Americans consider old. Our brother is good. Busy, but good. He was surprised we kept the dedication in the last book a secret, and can't wait to give you his thanks. Also, he told me to shower you with praise and affection in his absence - which we all know I won't do - and to tell you he will see you as soon as he can.” 

 

Bucky scoffed in good-natured skepticism. “Uh huh, and when will that be? 2030? I'll have to storm the Parliament in Wakanda to see him at this rate.” He finished his coffee. “Or make you take me with you on one of your visits.” Shuri laughed but quieted for a moment. “I'm sorry you couldn't come, Wolfie. I feel bad he could only get clearance for one of us - he's your brother too… But I guess one would expect so considering...”

 

“The government being in disarray?”

 

“It’s not disarray, it's a Period Of Upheaval. And he’s fixing it. He’s CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the world, he has more pull than even he’s comfortable with I think.”

 

“Yeah… that whole Corporations-as-People thing really-”

 

Shuri let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t understand it! I just publish books! Anyway, I am heading to the Smithsonian to kill some time while he takes meetings this afternoon, but thank you for asking.”

 

“DINOSAUR PILGRIMAGE!” he announced with fervant good humor. 

 

“Obviously,” she replied wryly. A beat later, Bucky cleared his throat and asked with studied casualness: “So… any bites on the writing front?”

 

Shuri sighed, genuinely remorseful. “No, I'm sorry Wolfie. I don't have any news for you as your agent. Tragically, I only called you because I missed your shaggy face.”

 

“And here I thought you were only calling to rub it in that I can't drag you to the Air and Space museum this time,” he shot back, trying his best to sound lighthearted. Bucky had known, really, that she was only calling to check in. But he couldn't help the slightly disappointed sigh that escaped him as he started aimlessly tidying the kitchen. Shuri heard it. Of course she did. 

 

“Aww, you'll be okay. You know the Winter Soldier series is on ice right now. Pun intended.” Bucky facepalmed so hard he was certain she heard it. Her swallowed giggle confirmed it as she continued. “Nobody wants a spy thriller right now, James, not when every news cycle is more extreme than the strangest plot lines you can come up with. People are exhausted with political intrigue. They don’t need a Cold War Era spy story when we are looking at another real Cold War now. Give it a couple years, it’ll be perfect for a comeback.”

Bucky sighed. “Shuri, I’ve been without a publisher for over a year! Residuals only do so much, kiddo, I need to work, I… Have you shopped around a little? I mean, it’s not like… maybe we can get a tv deal or something? I can do something different.”

 

“Oh, sweet boy. You want me to shop something around, you need to give me something other than copy from James Rodgers. Pull a Stephen King, write under a different name! Branch out! Besides, I’m not the one who went nuclear on twitter and got dropped from his publisher, am I?”

 

Her friend pouted a little. “It wasn’t nuclear. More like… World war 1 heavy artillery. And The Winter Soldier books are NOT derivative.” 

 

Shuri huffed and Barnes could almost see her waving her expressive hands dismissively. “That is not what I meant and you know it, you delicate flower. Ugh, that ego of yours, good god, you get one criticism on Goodreads and suddenly that’s all I hear about. No, no, no, no, that’s not what I called about. Though now you mention it… remember Wilson?”

 

Bucky moved into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator aimlessly. “The volleyball?”

 

“NO, Wolfie, not! Why… “ She muttered something indistinguishable in some African dialect Bucky didn’t recognize. “Wilson! The agent from Penguin we met at the conference last year!”

 

“Oh yeah!” Hazy memories of a skeptical man with expressive eyebrows and a difficult to procure smile came bubbling to the surface. “W… Wade?”

 

Shuri sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “Sam. Sam Wilson. He served in the Air Force, actually. Met T’Challa once upon a time and… well, it doesn’t matter… he’s starting his own publishing affiliate. Wants to do children’s books, apparently he even has an illustrator in-house, they’re just looking for copy. Maybe-”

 

“No.” He bypassed the Odwalla he’d been aiming for and went straight for the beer next to it. Shuri made an aggravated noise.

 

“JAMES BUCHANAN. You can write a children’s book, I know you can.”

 

“No, Shuri. I don’t do-”

 

“Do Not tell me you do not write children’s stories, Wolfie, I’ve seen those dog stories in your notebook.”

 

“Buh… Wh… What Dog Stories??” Bucky’s fingers went numb and he almost dropped his bottle.

 

“The dog stories. About the dog and the cat, they show up everywhere. You really think I haven’t seen  _ any _ of them? With how many notebooks you insisted on me editing back in the day? If you just submitted drafts through a word document like a normal person…”   
  


He tried to breathe through the nausea creeping up on him, the heart rate he could feel ramping up. “Shuri, no. I can’t… those aren’t... I’m not…”

 

He wasn’t best friends with Shuri At’Chaka for no reason. Her tone softened immediately. “Bucky… Why? Talk to me.”

 

Bucky paused for a moment, then sighed and collected himself. “Kitty and Dot.”

 

“What?”

 

“Kitty and Dot. They’re… they’re not ‘Dog Books.’ They’re called Kitty and Dot. And I used to… back, when I first moved to Chicago. After, after… you know. I started writing them to sort of… deal. With leaving everyone - everything - behind. I guess I just never stopped.”

 

“Oh. Ohhhh, oh god. I’m so sorry Wolfie. I didn’t know it was about, y’know… him.”

 

That wasn’t right though. And he couldn’t bear to have her misunderstand. She knew so little about Steve Rogers… though she probably knew more than she let on. Shuri was the smartest person Bucky had ever known, and who knows what he told her back when they were first getting to know one another, before T’challa and Shuri became the most important people in his life. Before she dragged him home to Wakanda for two years to sober him up and convince him he wasn’t a hack, or a fluke, or undeserving. “It’s not… not just him. It’s about the two of us. It’s… they’re innocent, you know? Lessons I wish I’d been taught. I can write them and they’re sweet. I can… I could love him and he could love me back. Kids’ stories are simple, y’know?”

 

He could hear Shuri nod through the phone with her “mmm” in agreement. “Wolfie, I know you left New York and never  _ really _ looked back, and you’ve never really… listen, we both know you don’t talk about Brooklyn. About your Stevie. But I don’t think I’ve ever figured out exactly what happened. So you’re best friends with a person your whole life - he was straight, I get that, but I’ve never figured out why you ghosted. It’s not like you. And I’ll be honest, I don’t understand how this applies to you writing kids books for money. Or writing kids’ books to, what, molder on your shelf, in this case?”

 

Bucky took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “He wasn’t. Or, he might not have been. Straight, I mean. It’s… It was suddenly either very complicated or very simple. I simplified matters.” He paused, wavering, but Shuri was silent and the silence begged him to talk about it. For once. “Did I ever tell you his response to my telling him I loved him, Shuri? It was to ask me to be his best man.” 

 

She gasped. “Okay, okay, this is a part of the story I was never privy to,” she replied. “I’m sitting in front of the dinosaurs and T’challa is occupied for the next three hours. I need you to tell me this story. It’ll be cathartic and you’ll be able to let Sam Wilson use these stories to launch his company. Because, Wolfie, they’re kind of the sweetest.”

 

Bucky let out a hiccup-laugh and told her all about it. Some, he knew, was repeating parts she knew. But once he started… well. He hadn’t meant to start at the beginning, but suddenly he was talking about meeting Steve in kindergarten, how they were inseparable, they were one another’s shadows, how he spent the better part of 8th grade sleeping on a hospital cot because he wouldn’t leave his best friend. Living with Steve and Sarah Rogers after his Dad kicked him out for being queer. Sarah’s cancer. Steve’s heart surgery. Finding out he was allergic to, of all things, red food dye, and watching his hilariously contrary best bud turn into a hulking health nut. Living with one another until Steve moved in with Peggy the summer before senior year. Bucky lying and telling Steve he’d made up with his Dad so his best friend didn’t feel bad about essentially leaving Bucky homeless. He’d couch surfed and Steve had slowly spent more and more time with Peggy while Bucky simply faded into the background - a spectator to Steve living the life he deserved with the girl who’d only ever really known him as big and strong. He talked about how he had hoped, as a teenager, that maybe Steve wasn’t quite as straight and old-fashioned as he’d seemed. How they’d intended to go to NYU together, but Bucky had applied to Northwestern as a random back-up and gotten in. Basically connecting dots and contextualizing stories, asides, or vague statements he’d made during his and Shuri’s 12 year friendship. He wondered how embarrassed he should be that nearly all his stories from before he lived in Chicago featured Steve and, later, Peggy - a fact that was now becoming obvious. But the only person he’d ever talked freely to about Steve was a therapist he’d been assigned in Wakanda, and that was nearly eight years ago now. So he kept going - told Shuri about how the idea of Chicago, his home and hers now, had never seriously crossed his mind until the night after graduation. Six whiskies between them and he’d poured his heart out to Steve, right there on his living room floor. He’d told him that he loved him - not just like the best friends they were, but like he shouldn’t. Like he’d only ever hoped Steve would love him. How he knew Steve and Peggy were meant to be together, how he loved Peggy like a sister by now, but that it had still hurt more than anything to realize he would never have kids or a family because the only person he ever wanted it with was straight and in love with a woman. But that he was okay with it now, and was so proud of Steve for going after what he loved and believed in so fiercely. He told Shuri how Steve had looked at him and leaned forward, held him like he was delicate and kissed him like the world was ending. Like he was desperate, or overjoyed, or dying, or all three. He told Shuri how Steve had then sat up straight, looked Bucky straight in the eyes, and told him he’d proposed to Peggy that afternoon before bursting into tears the likes of which Bucky hadn’t seen since Sarah had died. Steve managed to gasp out how he’d wanted Bucky to be his best man around the sobs.

Wanted to know if he still would be. 

 

He didn’t tell Shuri how he’d felt like his world had fallen apart in that moment. About the dark, suffocating calm that had fallen over him as he comforted his best friend, the love of his life. About trying to calm the hysterical crying and pulling out the inhaler he still kept in his bag to circumvent his Stevie’s first minor asthma attack in the better part of three years. How the only words he could get out the rest of the evening were, “It’s ok, Stevie. I love you.” Over and over and over, in response to every question his friend threw at him. “It’s ok, Stevie. I love you. I love you.” Like he wanted to get it out as much as possible now that the metaphorical cat was out of the bag. He’d left once Steve had calmed down, and his big, blonde, oversized puppy of a best friend had wrapped him in one of his big, genuine hugs. (Steve was always a great hugger, even when he was small and all hard angles). Steve had put their foreheads together and searched Bucky’s face. For one delirious moment, it appeared Steve would kiss him again. The blonde had hidden his face in Bucky’s neck instead, burrowing in just above his collar like he had when they were kids and Steve was so much smaller than Bucky, muttering a litany of nonsense. “I'm sorry, I can't. I just, just today asked. I'm sorry. I never thought, I didn't know I… I'm not…I can’t… I'm sorry.” Nonsense half-sentences as lips brushed so close to his pulse point and Bucky just… couldn't. 

It would have been okay if he’d never known. If he'd never once kissed Steven Grant Rogers, had never had a whole life he'd only ever conceived in his wildest dreams dangled in front of him, then ripped away as fast as it had appeared. He could have lived his life as Steve’s Bucky Barnes. As Peggy’s Gay Best Friend. As Uncle Bucky to their kids. But now he knew. They could have had this. They could have had it, and it could have been amazing, but Steve didn't want him enough to try. And that was somehow worse. He was going to have to watch as Steve and Peggy lived their lives together and he'd know, deep in his heart, that they could all be so much happier. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it to Peggy, couldn’t do it to Steve, couldn’t - Wouldn’t - do it to himself. 

Bucky had slowly, reluctantly detached himself from his friend and begun to walk away. Steve had looked so frightened in the doorframe, beautiful and tragic. But that couldn’t have been right. Stevie was never frightened. “We’re… are we ok, Buck? I’m sorry, I’m… are we… are you okay?”

 

Bucky had mustered everything in him and given Steve the bravest smile he could manage. “It’s okay, Stevie. I love you.” And he’d walked away. 

 

He did tell Shuri about leaving the city - something he remembered recounting to her once, drunk and fearless in their early twenties. Without context, it was a grand adventure. Now, the whole thing took a turn for the tragic he’d never let color the story before. It had been 2:30 in the morning. He’d snuck into his Dad’s place and grabbed the two duffels he’d been living out of for the better part of 8 months. He’d grabbed the cash he’d saved from his various part time gigs, and the stash his Dad hid under the floorboards for alcohol. He considered it payment for all the bruises he’d had to hide over the years. He’d caught the train to JFK, bought a one-way ticket to Chicago, and had used twenty of his last hundred dollars to get to Northwestern’s admissions office to accept their offer and financial aid package. He’d spent the summer at a youth hostel in town, waiting tables at an Olive Garden until he could move into the dorms, and started his new life. He’d met Shuri two years later, through her brother - a TA for Bucky’s molecular engineering class at the time - and the rest was history. He’d paid his way through school with side gigs creative writing, and had started writing sci-fi and thrillers in his spare time. Shuri had taken it upon herself to sell a manuscript he’d given to her to edit and suddenly here they were. He was eleven years into a successful writing career (complete with mental, physical, and emotional breakdown in year three and, apparently, possibly-career-ending social media scandal in year ten). She was a successful literary agent and he was a year and a half past the 7th installment of his incredibly well-received  Winter Soldier series - a fact he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

 

“Jesus, Wolfie. I knew it was… but he… did… did you ever talk to him again? Where is he now?”

 

Bucky sighed. The last third of his beer had gone flat and warm, and he’d been talking for the better part of an hour. “I googled him once, when Facebook got to NYU. Just to see his face. He looked happy. He’d gotten into their art department, I guess he went. He was about done, looked like he was still planning on staying in Brooklyn. How he convinced Pegs not to move back to London I’ll never know... They probably have a brownstone and two-point-five kids by now.”

 

“What about him? He ever find you? On facebook or something?”

 

Bucky huffed. “Shuri, you of ALL people should know I’m not on social media.”   
  
“Yes you are.”

 

“No, James Rodgers is on social media,” he corrected her. “And that's pretty much only when you tell at me to post something. James Buchanan Barnes has a private instagram with, like, sixteen followers so I can see your brother’s stupidly beautiful landscape photographs and miss Wakanda.” He smiled as they both took a moment thinking of the A'Chakas’ home country. He loved the place. It was where Shuri had forced him to rebuild himself instead of holding himself together with metaphorical glue. It was where he’d written the third and fourth Winter Soldier books, where he'd gone from a breakout author to a serial success. He laughed and tried to lighten the mood. “Or drool over Nat’s husband’s Instagram-worthy food pics.”

 

“That's the truth. I've heard they taste as good a they look, but I'm not sure that's possible.” Shuri took a deep breath. “Well, I’m still in front of the dinosaurs. You feel better after talking about that?”

 

He crinkled his nose. “Not really. I hadn’t really thought about Steve in, god, months.”

 

“Months?” Shuri scoffed. “Wolfie, you’re thirtyfour. And you’re saying you’re cranky because I reminded you of your high school sweetheart from sixteen years ago - after a couple months of not actively thinking about him.” She sighed at his slightly belligerent silence. “Send me a book? One book, 500 words. I’ll send it to Sam, he’ll send it to his illustrator. If the guy’s as good as he says, you’ll fall in love with it and have something sweet and simple to do until I can sell that Star Knight, sci-fi, Firefly-meets-Star Wars nonsense you keep talking about but never  _ actually writing. _ ”

 

“Star LORD, Shuri, god! And it’s not Firefly meets-”

 

Shuri clucked at him and cut him off. “Well, I would know what I was selling if you’d write a query pitch about it. Send me your Kitty Dot story, I’ll send it to Wilson.”

 

“It’s Kitty AND Dot, you dodo bird,” Bucky replied archly. “And I can’t publish a kid’s book as James Rodgers, how’re you gonna even get this Sam Wilson of yours to look at it?”

 

“I’ll just tell him you wrote it but need another pen name. He’ll think of something.” She laughed. “You could always just use Bucky Barnes. It  _ sounds _ like a pen name,” she teased lightly. Bucky chuckled. 

 

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll send you an email. Enjoy your science museum, give your brother a hug for me. And just for the record, I’m incredibly jealous you get to see him, it’s been two years since I’ve seen his dumb face in person.”

“Bah, he misses your shaggy white-boy booty, too, I know he does. I’ll see if I can’t convince him to come visit us next time he flys over fly-over country, yes?”

 

“Yes, excellent. Ok, talk to you soon, Shuri.”

 

“A Bientot!”

 

Bucky hung up and turned MasterChef Junior back on, rummaging around under his couch for his laptop. Ten minutes of aimless wandering around the apartment turned up the notebook he was looking for, where he’d transcribed most of his Kitty and Dot stories over the years. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the first page and typed up an only slightly edited version of the first one in the book. He saved the document, sent the email off to Shuri, and decided to put it out of his mind. It was probably crap, this Wilson guy would probably hate it, and if nothing else, the illustrator would probably suck and he could pull the plug on the whole deal. He settled in to unabashedly cry over the season finale of a children’s cooking competition. It’d probably be cathartic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Steve!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's happening with Steve, you may ask?

Steve was wiping his kitchen counters down when his phone chimed. A text message from his best friend, Sam Wilson, had popped up. 

 

_ From: BirdMan _

_ Check your Email and stop stress baking. I think I’ve got you something. _

 

Steve hustled into his office and opened his email. It was at the top of his inbox: a forward from a literary agent Sam had talked about meeting. The message from her to him was short and sweet: 

 

_ That dog story from J.R. I told you about. (Do NOT tell him I called it “the dog story”, he got very testy about it). He wants a black cat and a golden retriever puppy in the city and zero gendered pronouns. And help w a kid friendly psued. Apparently those are the only restrictions, but he’ll want to ok the artwork before signing anything. Tell me what you think. I know he has more on deck if we can get him convinced. _

_ -S. _

 

Then, from Sam to Steve:

 

_ What do you think? I think you could do some pretty great stuff. Characters are easy to market. Catchy for easy readers. Needs lots of art. Could pretty easily be a series. I dig what it’s teaching. Tell me what you think, maybe do a mockup if you’re feelin it.  _

 

Steve opened up the word doc. It wasn’t in a traditional format, almost like it’d been typed up as a poem. At least the structure was easy enough to gauge where page breaks should be. He read it quickly.

 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

 

This is Dot. Dot is a puppy.

This is Kitty. Kitty is a cat. 

Kitty and Dot do everything together. 

They watch the sunrise over the skyscrapers, 

they eat their lunch, 

they play chase 

they climb fire escapes 

And they take care of eachother. 

Kitty cleans Dot’s fur when Dot gets into trouble.

(Dot gets into trouble a lot). 

Dot snuggles with Kitty when Kitty is afraid. 

(Kitty gets afraid a lot). 

Sometimes the other animals say, “Silly Kitty! You are a cat! Dot is a dog! Cats don’t play with dogs!”

“You are a fierce ally cat, with sharp claws and fur that is black as a shadow,” says Rat. “You should be happy outside and not be afraid of anything!” 

But Kitty is afraid of Rat, and Dot barks until Rat runs away while Kitty hides in Dot’s fur. 

Dot is always brave.

Sometimes the other animals say, “Silly Dot! You are a dog! Kitty is a cat! Dogs don’t play with cats!”

“You are a happy puppy, with soft fur and a warm nose,” says Goose. “You should find a nice child to live with and not get into mischief!” 

But Dot wrestles with Goose, and Kitty has to hiss and show claws until Goose flies away while Dot jumps and barks. 

Kitty is never afraid when Dot is in trouble. 

Dot says, “I love you, Kitty. You are my best friend in the whole city.”

Kitty says, “I love you, Dot. You are my best friend in the whole world.” 

Dot thinks Kitty is funny, because the city is as big as the world to a puppy. 

Kitty thinks Dot is silly, but also very soft.  

“Good night, Kitty.”

“Good night, Dot.”

 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

 

Steve skims it, then reads it aloud to get a feel for what it would sound like being read to a child. His voice catches slightly in his throat as he tries to get through “as big as the world to a puppy.” He hates how he gets choked up so easily about kids’ books, but it’s generally a good gauge of whether it connects with the reader. (The reader in this case, being himself.) He texts Sam back right away.

 

_ From: Steve _

_ I like it! Cute. No gendered pronouns?? :-) *thumbs up* Catch them young, teach radical acceptance. Haha. _

 

_ From: BirdMan _

_ Figured your bi af ass would appreciate. :-P Guess what. _

 

_ From: Steve _

_?? _

 

_ From: BirdMan _

_ Guess who J.R. is _

 

_ From: Steve _

_ The… author of the book? _

 

_ From: BirdMan _

_ Not just this one _

_ From: BirdMan _

_ James Rodgers _

 

_ From: Steve _ _   
_ _ …… _ _   
_ _ …… _ _   
_ _ ….. _ _   
_ __ ….

_ Wait… Winter Soldier series James Rodgers? _

 

_ From: BirdMan _

_ :-) _

 

_ From: Steve _

_ Don’t fuck with me like this, Samuel. _

_ From: Steve _

_ Are you serious? _

_ From: Steve _

_ Sam? _

_ From: Steve _

_ JFC SAM I AM CALLING YOU WTH DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS _

 

The phone rang almost to voicemail before Sam picked up. “Hey-low!”

Steve was having nothing of it. “Don’t you cutsey-hello me, Wilson. Are you serious? There’s no way you’re serious. James fucking Rodgers, author of THE  The Winter Soldier series did NOT just shoot off a children’s book that made me cry, there is no way and you are fucking with me, Sam, tell me you’re not serious.”

“Aww, it made you cry?” Of course Sam would focus on that slip, the little shit.

“Listen, ass, Please tell me who really wrote that, because if it’s-”

“Steve! Language, geez, and I’m not fucking with you.”

“Wh-What?” Steve was having a hard time breathing. He paced anxiously into his bedroom and rummaged around in his nightstand for his emergency inhaler. It’d been a couple months, but he shook it absently. “But… no way. He’s… he’s… he’s John Grisham. He’s breaking barriers left and right. I mean, what dude writes sexy, intelligent, female characters who’re actually self-actualized and not just a set piece? God, he normalized a fucking queer character into mainstream media and made it, like, an afterthought. The relationship between Asset Harrison and Captain Grant is the type of casual groundbreaking that makes literary history books! His books are everywhere. He’s amazing! Why the hell would he write a kid’s book? Why would he send it to YOU? Oh my god, I can’t illustrate a James Rodgers Book!”

Sam snorted over the phone. “I am never reading those books, you’d be absolutely insufferable while I did. First of all, LANGUAGE you hypocrite. Second of all, thanks so much for your vote of confidence, asshole. Why  _ wouldn’t _ he send it to me? Third of all, it’s NOT a James Rodgers book, he wants to keep that pen name assigned to his crazy damn Cold War series. Worry it’ll carry too much baggage, which - considering I can HEAR you practically having an asthma attack, is not an unreasonable worry.”

Steve huffed and muted his phone before taking a quick puff on his inhaler. He unmuted the speaker. “I am  _ not _ having an asthma attack.”

“Kay,” came a skeptical reply. Steve could almost hear Sam’s eyebrows. 

“I’m not. And you’d love them, you nerd.”

“I believe you,” replied Sam evenly. He obviously did not. “I met him at a convention a while back. Got to talking with his agent, gal named Shuri At’chaka from Wakanda. That’s a country in Africa.”

Steve snorted. “I know where Wakanda is, you know.”

“Hey, I don’t know. When was the last time you went to Manhattan, man? Let alone left the damn state, I don’t know if you know where  _ New Jersey _ is!”

“Just because Mr Air Force got to get stationed all over the world,” Steve ribbed Sam lightly. He only knew he could get away with the gentle tease because he’d seen Sam through some of the worst of his PTSD in his art therapy classes. Sam just huffed like the good-natured grump he was and plowed on. 

“Anyway, she’s cool people. Super bright. Apparently she and writer-Rodgers go back to when they were practically kids. She got him started. Got him OFF twitter after The Incident. And she’s supportive of promising small business ventures such as ourselves.”

 

Oh. The Incident. 

 

“Uh huh… He’s desperate because the publisher dropped him after his whole They Wanna Edit Out My Baby’s Baby tirade, isn’t he?”

“Uhhhh....,” Sam hedged. “Maybe that too.”

Steve sighed sadly and flopped down on his bed. “I mean, if what he says is right - if they told him he had to kill off Captain Grant and tie up the series all Happily Ever After with Natasha Romanov, I mean… I know the fact that there’s a gay romance isn’t exactly pivotal to the plot as far as what’s important, but it’s obviously a huge deal for the character, and for representation at large. And he’s been writing these characters for a decade, he’s  _ obviously _ invested in their arcs and personalities and keeping the characterization consistent.”

“Steve, I don't-”

“God, for someone with a brain as messed up as Harrison, consistent characterization is all you’ve got to keep the reader believing the arc. And it’s not like someone can just… decide not to be in love with someone. Especially, like… I mean Captain Grant broke through Harrison’s brainwashing for god’s sake! But nooo, he’s gonna go get married to the girl he met after? Like… what were the editors thinking?? I’d be pissed too! And-”

“Dude! First off, I cannot tell you how little I care about any of your fanboy Winter Soldier stuff, but second, didn’t you try to do, like, exactly that?”

“It’s not just fanboy stuff, Sam, it’s about representation,” insisted Steve, hoping to steer the subject away from…

“No, no. You can’t go off on something being impossible in fiction if you  _ literally _ did the thing you’re talking about being impossible. That Barnaby kid you went to high school with.”

“Barnes, Sam.”

“Yeah, the one whose photos remind me of like literally every dude you hook up with. You told me once he was the reason you knew you were bisexual, and your Big Queer Realization was, like, literally moments before you asked him to be a part of your wedding to Patty. Isn’t that basically the definition of deciding not to be in love with someone?”

“Geez, Sam, it’s Peggy. You know it’s Peggy…”

“I’ll call her whatever I wanna since I’m not allowed to call her what I really want.”

“It was my fault, you know that,” Steve protested quietly. “It’s how I know deciding not to love someone is bullshit.”

“Yeah… well,” Sam obviously sensed he’d tread on a nerve. “I still only met her once and she was stuffy as hell, plus I know you better. So I have to take your side. It’s the bro code.”

That made Steve chuckle. “Oh Sam. The bro code? No. Please, no.” He ran his hand through his hair and sat up on the bed. He wandered back toward his office. “So. James freaking Rodgers wants me to mock up art for his first kid’s book. Which might be a series. Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow. I mean, whether or not he lets us use the name recognition - which I doubt - he’s proven reliable. He writes stuff people read. This series could really get us a solid start, help us pick up more clients, win more pitches. I know your art’s good enough, we just gotta make sure he’s in it to win it.” A buzz on Sam’s end of the line let Steve know he was getting another call. “Ahh, Steve, I gotta go. It’s Maria. Think you could have those mockups scanned by Friday?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“Of course, Sam, Talk to your wife,” Steve smiled.

“Cool Steve, Bye!”

 

Steve settled carefully at his desk. He grabbed a sketchbook and started outlining some ideas. A black cat and a golden retriever puppy. Living in the city. His mind’s eye immediately conjured up images of Brooklyn in the spring, just cold enough that the wind is brisk and everything still smells fresh, but warm enough for just a sweater and for the first signs of plants to start popping up wherever they could. A black cat - honestly more the darkest brown he could manage than ink-black - with floppy fur on its head that fell like longish hair and bright blue eyes started appearing on his page. Then Dot, a puppy about the same size as the cat. Floppy ears and over-sized paws. He remembered how ungainly he felt as a teen, going from so tiny and frail to his current 6’2”, 230, and imagined it was as close to a puppy as he’d ever felt. He couldn’t help thinking the Dot he’d ended up drawing had a vaguely self-portrait fell to it. Oh well, nobody would know but him. 

   Steve finished rough sketches for all of the pages and full color watercolor and inks for a potential cover, the introduction pages (This is Kitty, This is Dot), and the two-page spread of the city at sunset for the characters’ goodnights. He’d thought it would be rough getting everything done, but the work was smooth and easy. He scanned and emailed the .tif files early Thursday afternoon instead of Friday and congratulated himself on a job well done. It was all up to Sam and James Rodgers now, whatever his real name was. 

 

   It had never really occurred to him that James Rodgers wasn’t the author’s real name, which was silly now that he thought about it. Any books he’d illustrated before had been under the pseudonym S. Grant, after all. (He’d taught art classes and art therapy classes for years - the last thing he had wanted was the intermingling of those with published works). It made him curious, though. He’d been reading  The Winter Soldier books for the better part of a decade, ever since he’d absently picked up the first one at a book sale just before its sequel was released. He’d immediately become a fan and had subsequently bought and read every book in the series as it became available. (He liked to glaze over the fact that he’d initially picked up the book because the model on the cover had looked so much like Bucky Barnes he’d had to do a double-take). Realizing James Rodgers was a pseudonym made Steve realize how little he knew about the person who’s been actually writing the books that had been such a huge part of his life for so long. After an afternoon at the gym, wandering around Brooklyn, and two episodes worth of television he hadn’t really been focusing on, curiosity finally got the better of him. 

    First he did a simple web search, but nothing came up to indicate “James Rodgers” was even a pen name. Photos on his website and limited social media were all blurry, from a distance at book signings, or goofy headshot-style Meet the Author photos where he was peeking wide-eyed over the top of his book. The author’s photo on the back of all his copies on the bookshelf all had the same thing - long, dark hair loose or in a ponytail, light skin and piercing, light-colored eyes peeking over the top of whatever title was in Steve’s hand. Okay, so there were no pictures, but he’d probably meet the guy eventually. Steve wanted to get a feel for the man who’d created characters he identified with so strongly, particularly now that he’d ostensibly be working with him for the indefinite future. James Rodgers’ Goodreads bio was much the same as the one on his official website, but his Wikipedia article had some fascinating new information. 

“‘Kay, based in Chicago, spent some years in Wakanda, that makes sense,” Steve mumbled to himself as he scrolled. Two of the  _ Winter Soldier _ books had been set predominantly in the African country and its neighbors. With the information from Sam about the guy’s agent, Steve began to wonder if he was married to her as well. He skimmed down and skipped over his bibliography (though Steve did note some comic book work he’d been unaware of previously) to Personal Life. The first section was labeled Activism. 

 

“James Rodgers, though notoriously tight-lipped about his personal relationships, is noted as having been an out gay man his entire adult life. He has mentioned in several interviews that he experienced bouts of homelessness as a teen due to parental rejection of his sexuality, but was never on the streets. “I was extremely lucky to have other excellent support structures in place outside of my biological family,” he has been documented as stating. These early experiences have been cited as a main reason why the otherwise reclusive author has taken such a hard and public stance on the issue of LGBT+ and POC visibility and representation. (See  Twitter Scandal ). He is also heavily involved in the Trevor Project, as well as a board member and contributor to the Wakandan-based Tree of Life STEM Youth Outreach programs in and around the Chicago area. (See  Education ).”

 

Then, under Personal Life: Other: 

“Very little is known about the author’s personal life outside of his activism, and he has kept a purposely low public profile since an incident in 2008 resulting in his relocation to the country of Wakanda for several years. (See  Mental Health ) However, Mr Rodgers is known to have a quirky and dry sense of humor, as exhibited in various interviews and editorial pieces, as well as the dedications at the beginnings of his novels. His only serious dedication appeared in 2009’s  _ Winter Soldier: Snowfall _ , which reads “For Sarah. 10 years without you, I still miss you every day. Love you, Ma”. It is the only indication of any family the author has given.”

 

Steve clicked around wikipedia, diving down several rabbit holes, and learned that the author had a degree in molecular engineering from Northwestern, but had never passed his practical engineering licensure. (5 years in your field before qualifying to take it? Yikes! Steve was glad he’d stuck with art). The man apparently liked to teach kids at the Tree of Life Centers in his spare time, and had minored in Modern History (which is likely where the Cold War Era setting for his novels had first come about). The more Steve internet-stalked James Rodgers, the more certain he was that he would absolutely adore the man if they ever met. Then his stomach growled and he realized it was close to three in the morning. He reached to close the laptop, then had one last curious thought and scrolled to the top of the original wikipedia article. 

“James Rodgers was born in New York City, New York (10 March, 1984).”

March 10th, 1984… Steve chuckled and daydreamed for a moment that James Rodgers, the author born on the same day, in the same year, in the same city as his childhood friend, was actually James Buchanan Barnes. That the model on the cover of the first Winter Soldier book had looked like Bucky because it HAD been him. He laughed to himself as he grabbed an apple and imagined that Captain Philip Grant was actually based on Steve, and Bentley Harrison - the Asset, The Winter Soldier - was based on Bucky as well. That they were together and telling one of the most important love stories in pop culture, even if it was just in the books. He wandered to the fridge, daydreaming that the dedication to Sarah had been to his mother, dead of cancer in 1999. Bucky had been living with them from before she was diagnosed all the way until the end, since he’d been kicked out by his Dad for... being… gay…

Same birthdate. Same city. Degree in molecular engineering; how many times had Bucky dragged Steve to science fairs and lectures that had bored him to near tears? They’d joked about getting a 4-bedroom place one day - a studio for Steve and a lab for Bucky. The author had experienced bouts of homelessness due to, what had it said - parental rejection of his sexuality? But a dedication to Sarah. “Love you, Ma.” Lucky to have support structures outside of his bio family.… Jesus H Christ. He left his apple on the counter with a bite out of it and rushed to his bookshelf, pulling out the seven  Winter Soldier Series novels he owned. It was an insane thought. He was just overtired and hungry and missing his childhood sweetheart. But now it was in his head, and he had to know. 

How had he never paid any attention to the dedications.

 

     The most recent had come out 18 months ago and was easy and silly.  _ The Winter Soldier #7, Loyalty and Law: _  “To Shuri, who started this whole mess, and T’Challa - Answer your phone. I can’t just go around dedicating books to you to get your attention. And to Coffee, my longest and healthiest relationship.” Steve chuckled despite himself then picked up the next book, doing his best to prove himself wrong.

He worked his way backwards: 

_ # 6, Faces and Names: _  “For all the Rogers’ and Rodgers’ out there - thanks for making it harder for the tabloids to find me.

For all the spies out there - hope you like this one. There’s Spy Stuff in it!

And for Shuri - Thank you. I’d have starved to death years ago without you.”

Another quirky, slightly snarky dedication. The Sarah one was likely just a coincidence.

 

_ #5, Company:  _ “To Tony, who let me into a real fighter jet hanger just for research.  And everyone else who helped. There were a lot of you.”

Ah, the one with all the aviation stuff. Steve had always thought Sam would get hooked on the books if only he could get him to dive into this one.

 

_ #4, Forest for the Trees:  _ “For Wakanda, the best country to write in (Screw you, it’s beautiful. Come here if you don’t believe me. Anyone who says I can’t dedicate a book to a country should write a book about why.)"

Published in…. Steve checked the copyright: 2012. The last book he wrote while in Africa, if Steve remembered correctly. Well, that seemed to jive.

 

_ #3, The Way Back: _  “To Alcohol, Cocaine, and Oxytocin - Three of the worst friends anyone can have.

And to Shuri, T’challa, and the love of my life - Thank you for giving me reasons to stay, even when we’re apart.”

Well that one was… unexpectedly dark. Steve checked the copyright. 2011. He’d been off the grid for nearly two years before this book had come out. Steve remembered how  The WInter Soldier had exploded after the second book had been released. Then the mysterious disappearance of its author once everyone wanted to talk to him. That dedication cleared up quite a bit. He’d probably read it at the time, then forgotten. Steve grabbed the next one, already knowing what the dedication page would say.

 

_ #2, Snowfall: _  “For Sarah. 10 years without you, I still miss you every day. Love you, Ma”

It couldn’t be for him, for his own mother, but it was past 3am and he felt tears heating up the back of his eyeballs. Steve hadn’t come across anything more than circumstantial, and was beginning to think he was going a little crazy when he picked up the first book in the series. The book that nobody had really thought would be much of anything, and had become a sleeper sensation. A cult hit that had spawned a sprawling and epic tale. James Rodgers’ first book.

 

_ The Winter Soldier: _  “For my oversized puppy. I hope you are deliriously happy. It’s okay, I love you.”

 

“Oh my god,” Steve said to the empty room.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve realizes he DOESN'T WANT THIS JOB as Bucky realizes he might REALLY WANT this job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went through and fixed some formatting stuff that I didn't realize got jenky in Ch 2, and decided I might as well post another chapter while I was here.
> 
> See y'all in a day or two!

Sam called Steve at 7:03 the next morning. “What the hell you S.O.S.’ing me about at 3:57 in the morning that wasn’t such an emergency you had to call, but also couldn't wait?” he demanded instead of the customary “hello.”

“What’s James Rodgers’ full name, Sam? His real name?”

“WHAT! You texted me in the middle of the night so you could fanboy over-”

“Please Sam. Please. What’s his name?”

Sam must have heard the hint of hysteria in Steve’s voice. To be honest, it was probably far less than a hint, but he’d been freaking out over this possibility for hours now and it was eating him alive. Sam gave a resigned sigh. “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know his real name. I’ve heard Shuri call him Wilfie, maybe? She was floating this ridiculous pen name she thought would be kid-friendly - Bucky Barnes. Like buckyballs maybe, which I think is because she’s a science nerd but I don't know if - Steve? Steve you okay?”

He hadn’t really had any control over the noise that had just come out of his mouth, but Steve suspected it sounded like someone had punched him. Hard. “I’m, um. I’m, um. One sec.” He put the phone down and took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He flung an arm over his eyes as the world lurched sideways and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t decided to get up off the bed when Sam called. He was a little worried he’d throw up, but there wasn’t anything in his stomach anyway. He put the phone back to his ear. “I’m back, sorry,” he croaked sheepishly. 

“Steve, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam demanded. “You tell me now or I’m driving over there and taking you to the hospital.”

“No, Sam. I’m fine, it’s just… uh… Bucky. James Rodgers. Uh… I don’t think Bucky is a pseudonym.”

Sam scoffed. “Of course it is, it has to be. Who names their kid Bucky?”

Steve remained dead serious. “They didn’t. He was James. That part’s right. James Buchanan Barnes. He started going by Bucky in kindergarten because there were already two Jameses and a Jim.”

Sam laughed. “Dude, how much research did you do on this… oh… oh shit. Barnes. BARNES?” Finally, the pieces clicked into place for a pre-coffee Sam Wilson. “James fucking Rodgers is Your Bucky Barnes??”

Steve couldn’t really talk. “Yeah, I think so,” he managed to whisper. “Sam, what do I do?”

Sam wasn’t quite done processing yet. “Steve. Steve, he’s been using your last name. As a pen name. For like ten years, man.”

Steve shook his head even though Sam couldn’t see. ‘No, no, there’s… it’s spelled differently.”

“Yeah, he added a “D.” For delirious, which is what you are if you think he’s not one hundred percent using your last name.” Sam scoffed. “Wait… you haven’t talked to him since The Thing, right?”

“No. I couldn’t find him. He was just… g-gone. Sam. Sam, he hates me. Or he should... and I don’t blame him,” emotion Steve couldn’t name had a hold on his throat and he was having a hard time getting words past it. He could breathe fine, which was nice, but he just needed to process for a while. “I have to go,” he eked out.

Sam was all concern in his response. “You okay? You want me to tell Shuri we can’t do it? Cancel the deal? You want me to tell her who you are?”

“Oh! God! No! No, no, no. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. I just need, I need to sleep I think.” Steve closed his eyes and already felt unconsciousness pulling at him. “And, you know, he might hate the art. We can find a different illustrator, he’d never know, and we’d still have the contract. Maybe… maybe I can talk to him. I just. I need to get some sleep. Let me know if you hear from them today?”

“Sure,” Sam replied uneasily. “Sure, Steve. I’ll take my cues from you. You rest up, get your head together. I’ll be here if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay. Gu’night Sam.”

“Good morning, Steve.” Sam hung up and got back into bed with Maria, his wife.

“Who was that?” she asked sleepily. Sam snorted softly.

“I’d say Steve, but I think it was fate, honestly,” Sam replied. Marie patted his hand indulgently.

“Whatever you say, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll figure it out. Go back to sleep.”

 

*********************************************

 

Shuri walked back into her office to find Bucky staring with near-literal heart eyes at her computer screens. She set his coffee down and took a sip of her own, hiding a smug smile. “So I take it you're a fan of the mock-ups?” she asked innocently. Bucky didn't even glance away from her giant screens, holding a arm aloft and making a grabby-hand until she picked up his coffee and moved it the 4 inches into his grasping fingers. He sipped on it quietly and clicked through the pages again. Sam had put together rough layouts of the illustrations, along with Bucky's text, and the author was transfixed. He clicked through the book one more time before pausing on a two-page spread of a beautiful sunset over Brooklyn. Kitty cat and Dot the puppy were snuggled up together in the left foreground on a rooftop, outlined in stark ink and block color. The rest of the scene was softer, oranges and reds and purples melded with green plants and grey-brown buildings in a hazy watercolor. Text in white letters lined the bottom of the pages: Dot thinks Kitty is funny, because the city is as big as the world to a puppy. 

Bucky finally leaned back and smiled at his friend. “This is SO cool.”

“Cooler than the comic books you helped do?”

Bucky grinned and went back to staring at the watercolor sunset. “Oh hell yes. I mean, comics were a blast, no denying that. But this is so… who did this?”

Shuri frowned for a second. “... You? Oh, sorry,” she laughed at herself when Bucky shot her a skeptical side eye. “Sam Wilson, the publisher. He put together the layouts, but a lot of it apparently came from the illustrator. They decided most of the page breaks and came up with the character design and everything.”

Barnes let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Wow. In, what, 4 days? Not bad, not bad. Damn. Work like this and we could get one of these out every two months. What’s her name?”

“So you’re interested in signing with them? Maybe doing multiple books?” she prompted. “And whose name?”

Leaning back in Shuri's chair, Bucky gestured vaguely to the screens in front of him with his coffee cup. “The illustrator. What’s her name? Or his name, whatever. I’m only assuming a she because it’s fucking beautiful… and I’m a misandrist asshole, I guess.” He grinned cheekily and took a sip of his coffee when Shuri rolled her eyes. Then, more seriously, he continued. “And yeah, sure. If this is the aesthetic I’m buying into? Absolutely. Besides, you said yourself, what good are those stories doing moldering away in an old notebook in my apartment? This… this is perfect.” His eyes softened as he stared at the spread again. “You know what this reminds me of, Shuri?” His voice was soft and she matched his tone.

“What?”

“Home.” He smiled a little and gave a little sigh. “Not Wakanda, not Chicago, but… when I was a kid, I would go up on my roof sometimes and watch the sunset. Any time I could manage, from when it first got warm enough that we weren’t freezing our asses off all the way to when it started getting too cold again. I’d go up and sit and watch and we’d…” He trailed off with a distracted frown. 

“You’ve always done that, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“Whenever you talk about before Chicago. You always alternate tenses between ‘I’ and ‘we’. You and your Stevie, you two really did do everything together, didn’t you?”

Bucky actually blushed a little at being called out, particularly on something he’d been utterly unaware of for so long. “I mean, not everything. But… yeah.” He let out a deep breath and shook himself a little. “But yeah, this reminds me of those nights. I can even recognize certain buildings - this is definitely Brooklyn. It’d be pretty cool if she was based out of there.”

“He,” corrected Shuri, checking her phone and scrolling through her email for the chain she’d been sharing with Sam. “Uh…. here it is. He sent me some samples before I even brought it up with you.” Bucky looked impressed, but Shuri just giggled. “You think I don’t got your back, Wolfie? You say yes too easily when you feel like you’d be letting someone down - I don’t want you working for a hack, how bad would that look for me?” Her friend made a face and she opened the samples of previously published work that’d been emailed to her. “S. Grant, Brooklyn, New York,” she read out, turning the phone to show Barnes. “I don’t know what the S stands for, but Sam called him a he, so maybe Saul or Sharon or Sebastian or something.”

Bucky choked on his coffee. “Sharon? I thought you said it was a he?”

Shuri looked at him blankly. “Is Sharon not for men?”

Bucky tried valiantly - and failed - to smother a laugh. He shook his head. Shuri blew a huff of air through pursed lips and threw up her hands.

“I don’t even know, all you white people names sound the same! Logan for boys, Logan for girls, Ashley for girls, and Ashley for boys but only in classic literature! Steven for boys, Stephanie for girls, it’s confusing! You know what’s a man-name? T’challa! You ever look at a girl and say ‘oh, I’ll bet her name is T’challa. No! Shuri, that is a woman’s name. English, ach! And you say my language is difficult!” She rolled her eyes and focused on giving her coffee a death stare. 

Bucky chortled. “Shur, what happened?”

His friend sighed. “The barista called me Sherry again,” she pouted. Bucky snorted. She scowled indignantly and hit his shoulder. “It’s not funny!! Do I look like a Cheryl to you? Awful! Shu-ree! How hard is it? Cheryl... “ She pulled on the back of her chair and tipped the man in it backwards. “Not. Funny, White Wolf! It’s not MY fault all English names sound the same!” Bucky attempted to put his coffee on the desk and right himself, floundering ungracefully as she rocked the office chair just enough to keep him off balance.

“Hey, watchit! It’s gonna be Coffee-covered Wolf if you’re not careful! Immediately followed by Sad Wet Dog Bucky who will make you buy me more coffee. 

“Hah! I bought you this one.” She let go of the back of the chair and it straightened up abruptly. “Now get up, lazy bones. You can stare at the book when it comes back from the printer’s. It’s time for me to work.”

Bucky surrendered his seat and lifted his hands. “Whatever you say, Cheryl,” he teased, earning himself a death-glare side-eye. He swooped in and nabbed his coffee cup, draining it quickly. Shuri opened her email and about 5 other windows in rapid succession.

“At least my name doesn't translate directly back into English, Wolfie,” she teased back, then clicked on something and went into Work Mode. “Hey, were you serious about moving forward with this children’s book thing? With all your Kitty and Dot stuff? How many do you have, do you think?” she asked, all business again, typing and clicking away while she talked. Bucky picked at the cardboard sleeve around his coffee and thought about it.

“Yeah… yeah, I think I could do this for a while. I’ve got… probably… thirty story options? I could make a solid twenty, twenty-three of those viable, probably. With some help.” Shuri paused and actually looked at him. 

“Only a 66% confidence level? What’s wrong with the other ten?” 

Bucky shrugged and looked at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair self-consciously. “Well, kids’ publishers probably don’t want their kids reading about how cats wanna get into their dog-friend’s pants…amongst other things. Even radically cool ones like your volleyball, Wilson…” He scratched at his 5 o’clock shadow aimlessly.

Shuri snorted and went back to typing. “You are so weird” she threw out fondly.

Bucky came up short. “Wait, are you emailing him now?” 

The woman behind the computer screens quirked a skeptical half-smile without looking up. “You really think you’re my only client, Wolfie? I mean… of course, you are my most important and best and brightest and most wonderful client, my sweet boy,” she painted a shit-eating grin with a sugary tone and fluttered her eyelashes at him for a split second before they both cracked and laughed. She shook her head and refocused. “Ohhh, Barnes. No, I’ve got to touch base with Natalia about that History of Dance she’s working on, Lisabeth’s weird little grown-up Scooby Doo series might actually be getting that television pilot, so we’re still knee deep in that, and I’m trying to shop around a pitch for an oral history of nordic folk tales this guy Chris sent me that looks really promising. Really, I’m-” She looked up to see Bucky badly attempting to hide the fact that he was pouting. “Good god, Wolfie, you are hopeless.” She pulled out a post-it and pen rather more abruptly than necessary, clicked around for a moment, wrote something down, and extended her hand towards him. “Not all artists like boys, Bucky, just remember that. Here,” she waggled the neon green post-it note at him until he grabbed it, which freed up her hand to return the keyboard. “Sam’s email and the artist Grant’s. I know you’ll take whatever they offer you, because you are a kind, gentle, deeply stupid man, so my killer negotiating skills will be wasted. You talk to them. Tell them you like the work, try not to let that little art-crush you have show too fast, you don’t want to scare them off.”

“What can i say - I have a competency kink. He’s obviously talented.” Bucky tried to be indignant, but he was far too pleased with the contact information he’d been given. 

“It’s not a competency kink, it’s any boy who makes beautiful art. We need to keep this one, Bucky,” she warned. “Please don’t decide you like him so much that you asshole-out and drive them away in a fit of overcompensating and boundary-setting? Please? Sam is a good man, and you could do with some more friends.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. He hated it when Shuri dropped reality on him a la a bag of wet sand like that, but - to be fair - she only did it when it needed to be said. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll make nice and be professional with Misters Grant and Wilson,” he replied petulantly. He stared at the post-it and smiled, then waved it at his best friend. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some internet-stalking to do!”

“It’s not stalking if you just find him on Facebook, Barnes, it’s called networking,” she replied with exaggerated pretension, then shot him a genuine grin. “Okay, now get out of my office. I have work to do! Real work! So shoo!” 

“I’m goin, I’m goin,” he tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash as he left her office. “Bye, Shur.”

“Shoo!”

Their laughter echoed at one another down the hall as Bucky left. He had some Googling to do. And to think, he’d woken up that morning thinking it’d be a boring day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes a new friend.... kinda

  
  


Turned out Mr. Grant was pretty damn easy to find. 

Well, his work was anyway. 

Bucky had been almost disappointed when the top search result for the email address he’d input into his google search bar had been S. Grant’s instagram and professional facebook page. Well, until he’d tried to find out literally anything else about the guy and come up with zilch. Not even a real self portrait. Just beautiful watercolors, inks, and a collection of works called “Stranger Faces” that appeared to be sketches done while people-watching. There were some amazing photographs thrown in amongst the art pieces on his instagram, and a dozen themed collections in albums on his facebook. His profile photo on both social media accounts were of a graceful hand and a mop of blonde hair holding a camera in front of his face in a tightly cropped mirror-selfie. His timeline on facebook shared a lot of professional links, along with a surprising amount of Support Our Veterans, Mental Health Awareness, and LGBT+ positive memes and events. 

Interesting.

Then he found it. 

Down, at the bottom of his About page, was a tumblr link to a blog with the username CaptainGrantSupportsThisMessage. 

“No way,” Bucky muttered to himself in amused disbelief, then clicked on the link.

 

Bucky was not unfamiliar with fan culture. While he’d never gotten brave enough to start his own tumblr account, he’d heard stories. And he was WELL aware of the fandom online in regards to  The Winter Soldier . And this blog, well, it was  _ definitely _ a fan blog for his series. Once he started scrolling through the images, though… well…

They were amazing.

 

     Scenes pulled from his books were sketched in amazing detail, quotes, chapter numbers, and the book they were from in every description, along with the caveat “Remember, I don’t own these characters!”

“You damn well could, holy shit,” Bucky muttered to his computer as he continued to scroll through. Captain Grant… well, he knew the descriptions in his books were pretty specific, but these illustrations looked like STEVE. Older, more rugged, a bit war-weary and bedraggled, but still with that spark Bucky had only hoped to capture in the character based so fundamentally on his Stevie. His nose was even broken in exactly the same way Steve’s had been, how on point. Asset Harrison looked strikingly like Bucky, though he wasn’t surprised considering he’d had to model for the first and second cover art himself. (It didn’t hurt that he’d started the story as a sort of ultimate escapism - casting himself as a broken and deranged super spy, captured and brainwashed to work for the wrong side. His Stevie, the good Captain, would search tirelessly for his friend and try to bring him home even as Harrison fought being found). Natasha Romanov’s characterization was amazing as well. Online interpretations of the beautiful, red-headed femme fatale from his stories constantly infuriated Bucky because she was usually nothing but boobs, ass, and red hair. She was almost exclusively portrayed in fanart dressed in one of the two hypersexualized outfits he’d ever put her in. (Despite her appearing in all seven books). But here she was, in all her glory, oversized Sorbonne sweatshirt and hair in a messy bun, brandishing her Widow Bite tasers below rolled up sleeves and sighting down her pistol.    
   
    The description to the side of the piece read: “You really thought I’m  _ ever _ unprepared, Captain?” she said coldly, pistol trained on his chest. She could take him out in an instant, that much was obvious. And yet, here he was. “He could forget us both; you Americans waste so much time. Sit.” Somehow, Grant didn’t think it was a request. -  The Way Back , Chapter 7, p. 106. Remember, I don’t own these characters!” And, hot damn, Bucky may be in love. He clicked through to the gallery and, yup, nothing with her in her catsuit from the heist in  Company OR the over-the-top dress she wore when trying to seduce Bentley Harrison during her introduction in  The Winter Soldier .

“Wow, wow, wow, who are you?” Bucky asked his computer screen. “God, please don’t be an asshole,” he chuckled to himself. In a fit of recklessness, he navigated back to Facebook, clicked the button to send a message, and typed in a quick “Hey, Cap. I like your art ;-) “ before hitting send.

Bucky was suddenly hit with the realization that his facebook message would be coming from James Rodgers.

He immediately panicked. 

“Oh god, oh god, no - No! Undo! Unsend… aaahhhhh,” he grabbed his screen and shook it in impotent frustration before resignation caught up with him. Oh god. He was a power-dynamic-exploiting asshole who was about to be read the riot act, the guy was gonna be justifiably affronted and tell him he was terrible. His fan art was going to have been an elaborate joke, and he was never going to want to talk to Bucky again. Or maybe he’d just be a dick about it and try to use it as a weird professional power play. “Be an asshole, please be an asshole. Please make it so I never want to talk to you again...  god what a dick move… Oh hey! Yeah, I’m just the author of those stories internet stalking your work, please draw pretty kitties and dogs for me forever, uuuggghhhh. I’m the woooorst.” He looked at his reflection in his computer screen and scowled at himself. “Why do I never listen to Shuri?”

*ba-Bink!

 

\\\\\\\

From: S. Grant   
_ Thanks? _

////

 

Bucky stared at the messenger window in equal parts horror and elation. His heart was beating very fast, for some reason. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said to nobody in particular. “Neither of us is an asshole, maybe?” He stretched his fingers and hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of a way to make the best of the situation. The guy was talking to him, after all.

  
  


\\\\\\\

From: James Rodgers

Seriously. I’m really impressed with all of it. I loved the work you did for Kitty and Dot - I saw it earlier.   
I apologize for contacting you like this first. I’ll be honest, I think I got a little ahead of myself.

//// 

  
  


There. Honesty. He could work with honesty. It was always easier - Bucky hated lying. He was too lazy to keep track of lies, his head was already too full of entirely fictional worlds. He may have been known to omit details - kind of big, “important” details, according to Shuri - but very rarely lied outright.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Thanks :-) _ _   
_ _ Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but… is this actually James Rodgers? I know it’s his facebook account… maybe I’m talking to his agent? _

 

Haha, nope. I’m the real deal. Doubt my agent would have opened with such a patently unprofessional line.

Which I’m sorry about, by the way.

Like, really, genuinely.

… I just really liked your art.

Like a lot.

It’s just so warm. And inviting. Your facial and body language really captured everything well. And I love what you choose to sketch. I don’t know how long your portraits take, but they’re just breathtaking. Almost as good as the watercolors, which, obviously, I think are great too. What with them being in the book and everything...

Wow I’m rambling, I’m so sorry.

I’m supposed to be making a professional contact with you and here I am...  I promise I’m less talkative in person. 

 

_ Hey, no problem. I’m glad you liked it. I’m really, genuinely flattered. It means a lot that you think so highly of my work. _

////

  
  


A pause, then.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ It’s really nice to talk to you. _

////

  
  


Aww, he was so nice! Or he was confused as to why Bucky was talking to him at all and trying to get out of this as professionally unscathed as possible. He decided to go for his best attempt at genuine enthusiasm.

  
  


\\\\\\\

Nice to meet you too! :-) 

Thanks for not thinking I’m a creeper for facebook stalking you.

////

  
  


There. That was nice! Friendly! Oh, he should explain where the Cap reference came from.

  
  


\\\\\\\

And tumblr stalking you.

////

  
  


The read receipt popped up, but S. Grant took significantly longer to respond than previously. Finally, he replied.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ You found my tumblr? _

 

Haha, well yes. Thus my greeting you as Cap. 

You have an amazing take on the characters. I really love how you draw Natasha Romanov.

 

_ Oh god _

////

  
  


OH NO! ABORT! ABORT! He was embarrassed? Why was he embarrassed?!? Bucky had creepers and fangirls shoving everything from amazing charcoal portraits to creepy, smutty photoshops to sex scenes made of jellybeans in his face at every event he goes to.

Oh, oh no. 

Unless he was one of those fans Bucky didn’t get to see very often.

The one who quietly,  _ genuinely loved _ the work.  And  _ never _ expected to meet the creator.

  
  


\\\\\\\

Oh no, I freaked you out. 

I’m Sorry! I’m Sorry!

I’m, uh… not great at… people. I’m so sorry.

So...You like  The Winter Soldier series, I guess? Haha

Oh god, I’m so sorry for putting you on the spot like this...

////

  
  


Bucky was all over the place. He was trying, he was HONESTLY trying to not blow this either personally or professionally. He did not feel as though he was succeeding on either level. The more this dude replied, all politeness and understatement, the more he felt like he was tripping over his own feet trying to get the guy to like him. Bucky took a deep breath and tried to remember what his therapist had drilled into him about letting his fear of rejection dictate his interactions with people.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Yeah. I… I’m a huge fan, actually. You probably figured that out, huh… _

_ From back before Snowfall, honestly. _

_ You probably get people telling you that a lot, but I promise it’s true. From way back.  _

_ Before I knew you were _

_ you _

 

Haha, well to be fair, if you’d done all that fanart in the few days since you found out we were working together, you would be hard pressed to convince me you weren’t some kind of art-producing robot. 

 

_ Haha, yeah, I guess. _

_ Have you spoken to Sam Wilson? _

 

Oh. No, I’m sorry, yeah. You probably don’t really want to have me breathing down your neck. I’ll just leave you my contact info and you can get back to me whenever. 

Sorry.

////

  
  


Bucky felt inexplicably rejected, but tried to shake it off. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to wrestle his unending anxiety around interpersonal interactions. 

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Oh, god, no, that probably sounded so rude. _

_ I apologize, I was up all night. I’m a little foggy. _ _   
_ _ I was just wondering if you’d spoken to him today. _

_ If you knew who I was. _

////

 

Bucky laughed aloud, surprised at his own relief. Oh man, he hadn’t even clarified that he knew this dude was the illustrator for his book. No WONDER the guy was walking on eggshells.

  
  


\\\\\\\

I’m So Sorry! Yes, I know you’re illustrating the Kitty and Dot stories, My Bad! 

Shuri gave me your email address bc I loved the work you did and wanted to get me off her back, haha. Probably should have led with that.

 

_ Ah. ok. _

 

Yeah, sorry.

 

_ You apologize a lot. _

 

...Sorry?

 

_ Please don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. _

_ I was rude.  _

_ I’m so sorry. _

 

Hey, man, no worries.

You’re a dude, right?

If not, you will not be able to keep me from apologizing profusely.

 

_ :-) Yes, I’m a dude. _

////

  
  


Ooh, emoticon! Bucky mentally high-fived himself for getting past just-text-post professional with the good Captain.

  
  


\\\\\\\

A real, live Captain Grant, huh? Cool!

 

_ Well, I have always identified pretty strongly with the character. We are both Grants, after all. _

 

So Grant’s your real name? Your first name doesn’t happen to be Philip, does it? Bc that’d just be uncanny… :-) 

////

  
  


Dots, dots, dots. Bucky hated those * typing * dots. Especially when they went on forever and the replies were so simple. 

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Yes. _

 

Yes to Grant or yes to Philip?

 

_ No, no phil. Just Grant _

 

Excellent! Well, it’s good to meet you for-real-on-the-internet, Grant!

 

_ It’s nice to officially speak to you online, James. _

_ //// _

  
  


Bucky momentarily thought to tell this Grant fellow to call him Bucky, but a new message popped up while he was debating exactly  _ how _ friendly he wanted to be with this new illustrator.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ As much as I hate to do so, I think I need to end this particular conversation. _

_ I have an appointment to get to. _

 

Oh Sure! No problem.

Thanks for saying hi.

 

_ Of course. _

_ I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you reaching out.  _

 

Well hey, text me whenever. If we become facebook friends, you’ll never be rid of me. Haha.

////

  
  


He’s not desperate, he’s being  _ friendly _ , right? Friendly people insinuate they’re completely available to the stranger they’re talking to, and practically ask them outright to accept their friend request, right? Ugh… why was he utterly terrible at People? It was like the friendlier and more talented they were, the less articulate and normal-human-sounding Bucky ended up becoming.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ I’ll talk to you soon, I promise. _

_ //// _

  
  


Well that’s a relief. Maybe he wasn’t the only one slightly awkward around strangers.

  
  


\\\\\\\

So earnest. 

I think I like you, Grant.

 

_ I sincerely hope you continue to, Mr. Rodgers. _

 

Have a good day!

_ //// _

  
  


PHEW! Disaster averted! Probably.

Bucky sat back from the computer and realized that simultaneously more and less time had passed than he’d anticipated. Either way, he was hungry. Feeling pretty positive about his interaction with Grant The Illustrator, he was relatively certain he hadn’t scared the dude off. The author made a mental note to email Sam Wilson about compensation and royalty rates after he’d fixed himself a late lunch.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how that last bit went from Steve's perspective, shall we?

 

Steve had been napping fitfully all day. He’d tried to go to sleep after talking to Sam, but had needed to get up and make himself some breakfast. The rest of the morning, and into the afternoon, had been spent attempting to sleep and waking up at odd times, only to burrow back into his self-pity blanket burrito and attempt to shut out the world some more. Sam would only contact him if needed, and he didn’t have any concrete plans until the end of the month. He could take a mulligan today.

Of course, Steve wasn’t expecting his phone to *Ka-CHINK* him awake mid-afternoon. Hazy, he unlocked his phone and opened the notification without checking the sender.

  
  


\\\\\\\

From: James Rodgers

_ Hey, Cap. I like your art ;-) _

////

  
  


Whaaa? Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, half-awake, and tried to remember if he knew this person.  James… 

Oh no.

Bucky.

Love of his life, Bucky, who’d disappeared without a trace. Who he’d been too stupid to follow before the trail went cold. 

Bucky, whom he’d compared every partner to, compared every feeling against, and always come up short.

Bucky, who didn’t know that the artist who’d been commissioned to illustrate his (frankly adorable) children’s book was, in fact, Steve.

Bucky who was also James Rodgers.

James Rodgers who wrote  The Winter Soldier series . 

The series for which Steve was a giant, giant fanboy. Blog, fanart, the whole deal!

James Rodgers, the author Steve was supposed to be collaborating with for Sam’s first real series with the potential to launch their own small publishing house.

Oh jesus.

 

Steve’s stomach twisted in a funny anxious/excited knot as he tried to think of how to manage the situation. Ideally before his fingers went numb. His mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario: Bucky had figured out Steve was… well, Steve, and was contacting him via messenger to read him the riot act like he’d never done in person. He stared at the open messenger window on his phone in slowly building terror.

He could pretend he never saw it.

But - Damn. He’d opened the message without thinking. Those stupid little read receipts... Steve inwardly cursed whoever came up with them.

Okay, he could do this.

No he couldn’t.

Too bad, Rogers, you have to, he thought with finality.

Steve was having a lot of conflicting feelings very rapidly, and he was too groggy for most of them. 

Well, he had to say something - there was no hiding the fact that he’d seen the message. He scowled at that traitorous little blue checkmark and typed in the first thing he thought of.

  
  


\\\\\\\

From: S. Grant

Thanks?

////

  
  


Jesus, Rogers, really? ‘Thanks’ with a question mark? 

 

\\\\\\\

From: James Rodgers

_ Seriously. I’m really impressed with all of it. I loved the work you did for Kitty and Dot - I saw it earlier. _

_ I apologize for contacting you like this first. I’ll be honest, I think I got a little ahead of myself. _

////

  
  


His art! Steve tried to convince himself that he wasn’t talking to Bucky, it would be much easier to wrap his head around if it wasn’t. Hell, he hadn’t checked his email… maybe it was just one of the guy’s team reaching out because they didn’t have his contact info! Yes, that must be it.

  
  


\\\\\\\

From: S. Grant

Thanks :-)

Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but… is this actually James Rodgers? I know it’s his facebook account… maybe I’m talking to his agent?

////

  
  


Steve crossed his fingers and hoped.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Haha, nope. I’m the real deal. Doubt my agent would have opened with such a patently unprofessional line. _

////

  
  


Shit.

Oh shit, he was talking to Bucky Barnes. 

And Bucky was being… flirty? Very friendly, if nothing else. Steve grinned despite himself.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Which I’m sorry about, by the way. _

_ Like, really, genuinely. _

_ … I just really liked your art. _

_ Like a lot. _

_ It’s just so warm. And inviting. Your facial and body language really captured everything well. And I love what you choose to sketch. I don’t know how long your portraits take, but they’re just breathtaking. Almost as good as the watercolors, which, obviously, I think are great too. What with them being in the book and everything... _ _   
_ _ Wow I’m rambling, I’m so sorry. _

_ I’m supposed to be making a professional contact with you and here I am...  _ _ I promise I’m less talkative in person.  _

 

Hey, no problem. I’m glad you liked it. I’m really, genuinely flattered. It means a lot that you think so highly of my work.

////

  
  


     And Steve meant it. However begrudgingly accepted throughout their childhood, Steve had missed his best friend’s encouragement and blind confidence in his abilities while he was in art school. The fact that he’d impressed Bucky enough, after nearly a decade and a half, to have him even marginally inarticulate gave him a bright feeling in his chest. And the idea that Bucky might be approaching him all compliments and apologies and tripping over his own figurative feet endeared him all over again to Steve.  He debated jumping straight to the crux of the issue, letting ‘James Rodgers’ know he knew his real name. He needed to be honest - really should be, if this conversation was gearing up to where he thought it might. But Steve was starting to suspect Bucky was blissfully ignorant of who  _ exactly _ he was texting with, and it just felt so incredible to have this tiny piece of him; the ability to speak freely, like real strangers.

  
  


\\\\\\\

It’s really nice to talk to you.

 

_ Nice to meet you too! :-)  _

_ //// _

  
  


God help him, Steve couldn’t bring himself to clarify.

  
  


_ \\\\\\\ _

_ Thanks for not thinking I’m a creeper for facebook stalking you. _

_ And tumblr stalking you. _

////

  
  


Wait. 

what.

  
  


\\\\\\\

You found my tumblr?

 

_ Haha, well yes. Thus my greeting you as Cap. You have an amazing take on the characters. I really love how you draw Natasha Romanoff. _

_ //// _

  
  


He’d found the fanart. 

Bucky Barnes, a.k.a. James Rodgers had found Steve’s fanart.

Fanart for the book series he himself wrote.

Oh god.

  
  


\\\\\\\

Oh god

 

_ Oh no, I freaked you out.  _

_ I’m Sorry! I’m Sorry! _

_ I’m, uh… not great at… people. I’m so sorry. _

_ So...You like  _ _ The Winter Soldier _ _ series, I guess? Haha _

_ Oh god, I’m so sorry for putting you on the spot like this... _

////

 

Well, now he wasn’t just talking to Bucky, he was talking to The Author. On the plus side, Steve knew how to talk to authors. On the negative, they’d never been authors who’d discovered he had an entire tumblr of fanart dedicated to their characters. There was nothing for it but to be forthcoming, he guessed.

 

\\\\\\\

Yeah. I… I’m a huge fan, actually. You probably figured that out, huh…

From back before Snowfall, honestly.

You probably get people telling you that a lot, but I promise it’s true. From way back. 

Before I knew you were

you

 

_ Haha, well to be fair, if you’d done all that fanart in the few days since you found out we were working together, you would be hard pressed to convince me you weren’t some kind of art-producing robot.  _

 

Haha, yeah, I guess.

////

  
  


Did he really not know S. Grant was Steve? One last effort to figure out before having to bite the bullet and tell Bucky himself. 

  
  


\\\\\\\

Have you spoken to Sam Wilson?

 

_ Oh. No, I’m sorry, yeah. You probably don’t really want to have me breathing down your neck. I’ll just leave you my contact info and you can get back to me whenever.  _

_ Sorry. _

////

  
  


Sudden panic clutched at Steve’s windpipe. Fourteen year old guilt and fear and the image of watching Bucky walk away with that brittle smile and heartbroken eyes splashed over him like cold water. All he could think was “NO DON’T GO.” He had no idea what to do.

  
  


_ //// _

Oh, god, no, that probably sounded so rude.

I apologize, I was up all night. I’m a little foggy.   
I was just wondering if you’d spoken to him today.

If you knew who I was.

 

_ I’m So Sorry! Yes, I know you’re illustrating the Kitty and Dot stories, My Bad!  _

_ Shuri gave me your email address bc I loved the work you did and wanted to get me off her back, haha. _

 

Ah. ok.

 

_ Yeah, sorry. _

 

You apologize a lot.

 

_...Sorry? _

 

Please don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. 

I was rude.

I’m so sorry.

////

  
  


For everything.

Please don’t go.

I’m so sorry.

  
  


////

_ Hey, man, no worries. _

_ You’re a dude, right? _

_ If not, you will not be able to keep me from apologizing profusely. _

////

  
  


Bucky was always a terrible liar. Even in letters, or emails. He’d rather avoid a subject than lie about it. Which meant he really had no idea who he was speaking to. (Well… typing to). Steve couldn’t help a smile at Bucky double checking his gender. He found it both adorable and slightly ridiculous. 

Jesus, he was getting emotional whiplash from his own brain.

  
  


////

:-) Yes, I’m a dude.

 

_ A real, live Captain Grant, huh? Cool! _

_ //// _

  
  


Steve huffed a laugh at himself. Winter Soldier talk - he could do this.

  
  


\\\\\\\

Well, I have always identified pretty strongly with the character. We are both Grants, after all.

 

_ So Grant’s your real name? Your first name doesn’t happen to be Philip, does it? Bc that’d just be uncanny… :-)  _

////

  
  


Here it was. This was his opportunity. Segue into it slowly. “Well, my middle name’s Grant,” he started typing. Deleted it. Started again. C’mon Rogers, just do it. Then he’ll follow up with “Oh, what’s your first name” and I can say Steve, I think we went to school together, or maybe tell him it’s funny because my last name’s the same as his. Or just tell him… just say… 

  
  


\\\\\\\

yes.

////

  
  


Shit.

  
  


////

_ Yes Grant or yes Phil? _

 

No, no phil. Just Grant

////

  
  


Shit.

  
  


\\\\\\\

_ Excellent! Well, it’s good to meet you for-real-on-the-internet, Grant! _

 

It’s nice to officially speak to you online, James.

////

  
  


Well, great. Now Bucky thought his name was Grant. Or, at least, was going along with the implied desire to stick with their pen names. Either way, he hadn’t told Bucky who he was, and he was out of steam. Steve was elated and exhausted and angsty and needed time to process and think of how he was going to get himself out of the mess he’d made.

  
  


\\\\\

As much as I hate to do so, I think I need to end this particular conversation.

I have an appointment to get to.

 

_ Oh Sure! No problem. _

_ Thanks for saying hi. _

 

Of course.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you reaching out. 

////

  
  


I can’t articulate how much, Buck. I don’t think I would have had the courage. 

  
  


_ \\\\\\\ _

_ Well hey, text me whenever. If we become facebook friends, you’ll never be rid of me. Haha _

 

I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.

 

_ So earnest.  _

_ I think I like you, Grant. _

 

I sincerely hope you continue to, Mr. Rodgers.

////

  
  


Please.

  
  


_ \\\\\\\ _

_ Have a good day! _

////

  
  


Steve couldn't stop staring at the last message. “Have a good day!” 

Bucky Barnes just wished him a good day.

Yeah ok. 

A good day.

He sighed and closed the app, telling himself that he’d wait, play it by ear, and only respond if Bucky reached out again.

 

Steve was so fucked.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to knoooowwww youuuuu

A few mornings later, Bucky was trying to decide if finishing off his Cinnamon Toast Crunch would be worth the extra time at the gym later when his phone chirped.  


\\\\\\\

_Good Morning! I hope I’m not waking you with this text. Sam told me he talked to Shuri about more Kitty and Dot books! :-) :-)_

_////_  


He grinned and replied immediately.  


\\\\\\\

You Bet! I’ve been writing them forever, and they’re just sitting here on my shelf. I figure, why not! Haha

Besides, the art is pretty stellar. I’ve never considered myself party to a caldecott medal before ;-)

 

_Oh, har har. Funny man with his Hugo award. :-P_

_Sorry for texting you. I just got excited we’d be working together for a while yet._

_I probably shouldn’t have_

 

Hey, I’m not joking about your art. And don’t worry about it! I’m just glad my awkward as fuck rambling the other day didn’t scare you off.

Shit, I probably shouldn’t be swearing on a professional thread.

….

God Damnit!

 

_LOL! Language, Mr. Rodgers!_

_What would King Friday think!_

_Are we really considering this a professional thread?_

 

Jesus, you sound like my mother

And yes, we’re both professional adults working together, yeah? So, professional.

Besides, I promised Shuri I’d keep it work-related. This is just what work sounds like before breakfast.

… Did you just drop a Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood reference on me?

 

_Yes, I’ve got a million of ‘em._

_Took you a minute, must be pre-coffee too._

 

Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it. Hey, in your PROFESSIONAL opinion, is finishing off my Cinammon Toast Crunch worth an extra 40 min in the gym today?

 

_…. Do you have any other plans?_

 

Not ‘sides bothering my agent at work.

 

_Go for it._

 

I like your style, Grant. :-D

////

  


And so it went.

  


\\\\\

So how did you get my contact info anyway?

 

_Promise not to laugh._

 

I can promise not to tell you I’m laughing.

 

_You’re a punk._

 

You’re a jerk. How’d you find me? I thought you only had Sam’s email.

 

_I might have made puppy-eyes at Shuri until she gave me yours because I liked the samples for Kitty and Dot so much._

 

Wow.

 

_How hard are you laughing?_

 

I’m not.

That means a lot. I’m actually kind of floored.

 

_Sorry?_

 

By laughter. You’re hilarious. :’-D

 

_AND YOU’RE a PUNK >:-[ _

///

  


A week went by.

  


\\\\\

_It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood!_

 

Maybe where you are. I’m in the windy city, baby, and it’s awful here today. :-(

 

_Good writing weather, maybe. You can go to your Land of Make-Believe._

 

How the hell do you have all these Mr. Rogers references? How many kids you GOT, man?

 

_Lol. No, no kids._

 

Really? I’m surprised.

 

_Why do you say that?_

 

Dunno. Guess I just pegged you for a family-type.

You and Spouse-a-tron waiting, or is it just not your thing?

And if I’m being terribly insensitive and invasive, please let me know. I really only have casual acquaintances and my two best friends (who are siblings). I’m in utterly uncharted waters as to what’s appropriate to talk about with you at this point in our story arc.

 

_You are utterly too honest for your own good, is what you are._

_And no, no spouse-a-tron either._

_And really? “Spouse-a-tron?”_

 

WHAT. IT WAS AN AWKWARD QUESTION, I FELT AWKWARD.

Also, that’s way better than “wife” or “husband”

 

_Okay, I can support that argument._

_And no, no kids. No husband. No wife._

_All are options, and I’d love to have two of the three at some point…_

_I dunno. I think that ship sailed a long time ago._

 

Oh man, I’m sorry.

Bad breakup?

 

_Kind of._

_I’ll tell you about it some time._

_///_

  


Then two weeks.

  


\\\\\

_Good beer and Brooklyn-Style pizza._

_What’s your favorite color?_

 

Why would you ask an artist that?

 

_Fine… uhh, where do you live?_

 

In an apartment.

 

_Thanks, punk. Where in the country? You and Sam both based out of the Big Apple?_

 

Yup! Brooklyn lyfe, yo.

 

_Don’t do that._

_Y’know, I grew up in Brooklyn, too!_

 

You ever think you could come back?

 

_Maybe._

_I dunno._

_I loved it there. Never thought I’d leave._

_Now I don’t know if I could stand going back alone._

 

You got some really bad memories here, don’t you?

Sorry, you don’t have to get into it.

Forget I said anything.

 

_Oh, no. Almost no bad memories growing up there. :-) I mean, some. But that’s life, you know?_

_Sorry, I was getting some coffee._

_Couple places would probably remind me of my foster ma, but besides that I’d love to go back some time._

_There are just some people I’m irrationally afraid I’ll run into, haha._

_Your turn :-)_

 

What’s your favorite tv show that you have to not tell your friends you watch?

(example: I love tellanovellas, but the only person who knows is Abuela Louisa downstairs because we talk about them when I go get her groceries).

 

_Jesus, you’re like a white, hipster Luke Cage. Do you fight crime on the weekends?_

_Cooking competition shows._

_Chopped. Masterchef. Cupcake Wars. All of them._

_What's your favorite kind of plant?_

_////_

  


Then - unexpectedly - almost two months had passed.

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

“Wolfie, WHO are you talking to?” Shuri grabbed the phone out of Bucky’s hands as he jumped at her sudden exclamation. 

“Jesus, Shuri! Hey! Give me… We’re in the middle of a movie!” He gestured impotently to the screen he’d been ignoring.

“No,  _ I _ am in the middle of a movie. YOU are on your phone talking to someone-you-refuse-to-tell-me. WHO! Who is this?” She squinted at the screen. “It just says Grant-Smiley-Face, WHO is more important than watching Tom Cruise break his ankle for a role?” 

Bucky sat at attention on his couch, refocusing on the tv in front of them. “Wait, he what?”

Shuri was having none of it. “Uh uh. Nope, you already decided Grant-Smiley-Face is more important than movie night, who is this person? Man? Grant…” She gasped. “NO, the  _ illustrator???” _

Bucky’s face said it all as he scrunched his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Shur, it’s not what you think…” But it was too late. She was scrolling.

“You talk… oh my god. Bucky, you talk with him every day?” She was glued to his screen, and her scrolling was fast enough to be both disconcerning and comforting. Comforting because he knew she wasn’t actually  _ reading _ any of their conversations. Disconcerting because, well… she was scrolling rather quickly… and was  _ still scrolling _ . Finally, his nerves couldn’t take it anymore and he grabbed the phone away from her dexterous thumbs. 

“You talk to this man more than you talk to me!” She tried to sound offended, but her smile betrayed her. “You actually like him, don’t you.”

Bucky hedged, buying time by looking to make sure Shuri hadn’t accidentally replied or something. He smiled reflexively as a new message popped up.    
  


 

////

_ Well, if it makes you feel better, I hear he broke his foot filming a stunt for that one. So he can’t be THAT much better at stunts than you would be... _

////

 

“AH! Ah! You DO like him! You don’t get that smile with  _ anyone _ ,” Shuri crowed. She settled down comfortably into the couch and re-focused on the film. “Because your heart is a tender and delicate flower, I will forgive you for keeping this from me. But, as your agent, please note that we are only two books into your eight book contract with Sam Wilson.” She turned to Bucky, who looked a bit like a child caught trying to sneak cookies. She smiled, soft and careful, putting a gentle hand on his knee. “It’s all right, you’re allowed to be happy.”

Taking a deep breath he wasn’t aware he needed, Bucky let it all out in a whoosh and slumped against the couch. He lay his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Shur. I just… it’s… weird. I didn’t so much deliberately not tell you so much as just… there wasn’t really anything to tell. Or, there shouldn’t be, anyway. We just… talk. God, I just get this feeling when I hear from him… Shur, it’s like I’ve got a sparkler in my chest, it’s… ugh,” He scrubbed his hands angrily through his long hair and pressed his palms against his eye sockets. “It’s dumb. He’s just some dude on the internet.”

Shuri made an executive decision and turned off the tv, bending her knee and turning to face Bucky on the couch. He still had his palms over his eyes, head resting on the backrest. “James?” 

No answer.

“Bucky.”

He grunted.

“Hey, where’s my brave white wolf, ah? You are not your fear, remember? Don’t dismiss this simply because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve it, or that you’re being ridiculous or something. Come now” she tapped his knee gently, “tell me about this Grant. How have you been making new friends without me knowing, uh? I thought I knew everything you did, sneaky man. Tell me.”

Bucky slowly came out from behind his hands and gave Shuri a weak, but genuine smile. “I know, I know, ‘fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration,’ I know.” He huffed out another heavy sigh and glanced at his phone. “Remember when you gave me Sam and Grant’s contact info? The day we got the roughs back for the first Kitty and Dot book.” Shuri nodded. “So I looked him up. Just professional sites, galleries, but he, uh… he had some Winter Soldier-inspired stuff and it was really good.” Shuri’s eyes widened, but she stayed quiet, listening. “So I sent him a message over facebook. Not even really thinking, just… got ahead of myself I guess.” He blushed despite himself at the memory. “We had a quick back-and-forth, I wasn’t going to pursue it, I’d already made an ass out of myself. But then he messaged me a couple days later about something-or-other.” Something-or-other, yeah, like he couldn’t remember. 

“We kept it professional, for the most part. Well... for a while. Just back and forth about the books, art,  The Winter Soldier , the business, daily shit, you and Sam… just… work stuff. Mostly. But then, well, it kinda… came up last week… that he wasn’t… exactly… He’s insinuated that he’s not straight.”

“Oh! That’s… good?” Shuri attempted, only slightly surprised.

“Yeah! I mean… I guess. I don’t actually  _ know _ if he’s single. He told me a couple weeks ago he wasn’t married, but… I dunno. It just… well, it kicked all my dumbass little ‘don’t get a crush on a straight boy’ safeguards right to the curb, that’s for sure.”

Suddenly, Shuri got it. “Ohhhh, you haven’t  _ let  _ yourself like this boy, have you?”

“Not… honestly it hadn’t really occurred to me how much I did until you just made a big deal out of it,” Bucky replied sheepishly. He was nothing if not good at denying his own romantic leanings. 

Patting her best friend’s arm comfortingly, Shuri did her best to hide her chuckle and moved to resume the movie. “Well,” she replied, “just ask him if he likes you. Maybe start with asking if he’s single. But if a partner hasn’t come up yet, well…” She shrugged and trailed off, apparently closing the issue. “Just don’t scare him off, we still need him to illustrate your dog stories,” she added just as she turned back to Tom Cruise.

“They’re not-” Bucky started indignantly before he caught her mischievous grin. He snorted and nabbed the remote, rewinding to the last action scene. “Okay, so two people have said something about a foot-breaking stunt in here. Now I  _ have _ to see it.”

 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

  
  


“STEVEN.”   
  
“Eeeeeeeee-yes?” replied Steve cautiously. He was sitting at his drafting table in his corner of what Sam liked to call their ‘headquarters.’ (It was a 5th story walkup loft in kind of a crappy part of Brooklyn, but hey - the light was good.) Sam was sitting at his desk, checking his email. His eyes were narrowed at the screen, but otherwise his posture was completely calm. “I just got an email from Shuri… do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Steve frowned. “About the first book? I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. Isn’t distribution starting, like, next month?”

Sam leveled a steady gaze at him. “The part about the book wasn’t what interested me, STEVE. It’s the part where she called you Grant, and alluded to the possibility that you and the good author may have a bit more of a dialogue than you’ve let on.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow and smiled dangerously. “Steve?”

Uh oh. “Yeah?” was all he could manage as he stared intently at his graphite-covered fingertips. 

“Have you been talking to James Rodgers this  _ whole time _ without telling me?”

Steve squinched up one side of his face, but nodded sheepishly. 

“And, have you told him you know who he is, or your real name?”

Steve slumped and shook his head. “No…” he felt very much like his mother was standing over him.

Sam Wilson, however, was not in the mood to be channeling maternal instincts. “WHAT THE HELL, MAN!” He exclaimed. His arms flailed and he jerked in his chair, exasperation finally winning out. “What are you THINKING?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“You’re sorry? To  _ me? _ Don’t say you’re sorry to  _ me _ , man, I’m not the one you’ve been lying to this whole time!”

Steve sat up, righteously angry for a moment. “It’s not a lie! He hasn’t told me  _ his  _ real name either. We refer to each other by our pen names, thanks so much. And he hasn’t asked… I just haven’t… volunteered the information.” He ran out of steam a little bit, but was still certain of one thing. “I’m not lying to him.”

Sam snorted. “Well you sure as hell aren’t being terribly forthcoming, and that’s for sure. No. Nuh uh, nooo, no.” Sam sat forward in his chair and pointed an accusing finger at Steve. “You need to fix this. You tell him who you are and how long you’ve known who he is. Or you need to stop this little side thing you’ve got going with him, it’s not fair. It’s not fair, it’s not cool, and it’s gonna blow up in  _ both _ of our faces.”

Steve abruptly and unexpectedly felt hot prickles behind his eyes and blinked rapidly to try to dispel the feeling. “I can’t just… Sam.” The blonde looked pleadingly at his best friend. “I tried not to talk to him, I did. The first time we talked, there was a misunderstanding and he thought he’d guessed my name and it was just so… so easy not to correct him.” Steve went back to pondering his grey fingertips. “And I wasn’t gonna text him again after that first night, but then he signed your contract, and I had been so worried I’d chased him away, so I reached out to say I was glad to be working with him. It started out just about the work, Sam, I swear.” He ventured a glance up, then returned to his own hands. “Now we just talk. About anything. Nothing. We get to know one another. It’s like we’re two strangers, honestly. I mean, it’s been almost fifteen years… I’m getting to know this whole new person,” he swiped angrily at his eyes and smiled. He couldn’t help it. Just the thought of this whole new, grown-up, fascinating version of Bucky he was getting to know lit him up. “And God, Sam, I know it’ll be all over as soon as he figures out I’m the dude he despises, but I’m just soaking up every interaction I can get with him. He’s amazing, and funny, and shy, and I know it’s selfish…”

“Damn right, man,” Sam chastised, a little more gently but still obviously annoyed. “You don’t get it, do you?” Steve just looked at him, puzzled. Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re leading him  _ on _ , man. He likes you. It's one of the reasons Shuri not-so-subtly checked up on whether I knew.” Steve snorted dismissively. “How many times a day do you talk to this guy?”

Steve looked away and began to blush. “I dunno, once or twice-”

“Rogers, I  _ will _ look in your phone.”

“Probably at least ten back and forth interactions on any given day.”

“Uh huh. Do you text one another good night?”

“Of course we do, we’re usually talking and have to go to sleep or something. It’s not like-”

“Do you text one another good morning?”

Steve’s blush got worse. “Uhhhhhh…..”

“I’ll take that as a hard ‘usually.’ How many times have you actively watched something together and live-texted about it - I know you Rogers.”

Steve hid behind his pencilly hands. “Like twice.”

“Ever?”

“... a week.”

Sam sighed, triumphant but sad. “You see?”

Steve stayed behind his hands, taking a deep breath. “Sam, what am I gonna do?” he asked into the echo of his own palms. 

“You gotta be real, man. Don’t be an asshole, okay?” Sam walked over and patted Steve’s shoulder comfortingly. “And hey, here’s a thought,” He grinned, point having been made. “Maybe, if you’re honest and break it to him on your own terms, he’ll understand that you’re not an  _ asshole _ , you’re just chicken-shit when it comes to Twuuuuu looooooooove.”

Sam danced backwards, anticipating Steve’s half-hearted swipe at his head, managing to get a chuckle out of both of them. “I hate it when you’re right, Sam,” the artist complained. 

Sam sat back down in front of his computer. “Oh, so you hate me  _ all the time _ ?” he replied archly. 

“Shut up,” was all Steve could conjure up, with a small smile. He turned back to his drafting table and picked up his pencil again, tapped it on the table for a few seconds. “Give me a little time. I’ll do it by launch, deal?” He spoke facing the wall, but Sam heard him loud and clear. 

“Sure, Rogers. Whenever’s good for you. I’m just trying to look out for you, y’know? On a practical note, if the books are gonna fall apart, I need to know sooner than later so I can cut the checks and be done. And on a personal note… well, man I just wanna minimize potential damage, you get it?”

“Yeah…” Steve tapped his pencil again. “Yeah, I get it.” He went back to his work.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why, exactly, did the publisher dump The Winter Soldier?
> 
> Plus a little aaaaangst (bc Steve is... *Sigh* Steve)

\\\\\\\

_ What’s for dinner, Cap? _

 

It’s only 5pm here, why are YOU asking about dinner, it’s mid afternoon in Chicago.

 

_ I’m living vicariously through you. Just got home from the gym and I promised myself limited carbs until Saturday. So? _

 

Well, I’m pretty sure all I’ve got in my fridge is the ingredients for a tuna melt, but I can pretend to eat whatever you want. You in the mood for lasagna?

 

_ Dude. _

_ I miss NYC italian food, man. _

 

I have to say, I don’t eat out much. But I do love italian when I do.

 

_ Don’t Eat Out Much?? In NYC??? _

 

Yeah. 

Got a weird allergy. It’s in a bunch of stuff, really wreaks havoc on my immune system when I accidentally get it.

////

 

Shit. Steve had almost started explaining his whole health situation to the man who’d quite literally seen him through it. Well, that’d be one way to make it obvious who he was… 

But Sam was right. He needed to come clean, and on his own terms.

He turned off the telenovela he was watching and hunkered down on the couch with his phone.

 

\\\\\\\

_ That sucks, man. _

_ My bff when we were kids had a shitty immune system. I used to watch him sometimes, when we were having a sleepover, just to make sure he was still breathing. Like if I watched him, nothing bad would happen to him... _

_ And bc he was gorgeous, obvs. _

_ …. _

_ How did I not realize I was gay until I was fifteen??? _

////

 

Steve deleted his initial response - “Jerk, you were the LAST one to figure it out” - and let the full scope of what Bucky had told him sink in. Bucky was talking about… him. About Steve. He hadn’t mentioned Steve before, not even tangentially.

He thought he was gorgeous?

Even before… everything?

Wow.

Well, this seemed to be as good an opening as any to at least start explaining himself.

 

\\\\\

That’s ok, I didn’t realize bisexuality was even a thing until I was nineteen.

Like, I knew I liked girls. 

And I’d been in love with my male best friend since before I knew what that even meant...

But he was the only boy for me. And I thought lots of girls were pretty. I thought I had to pick one, that maybe I thought I loved him but that wasn’t what real love was, you know? Because I thought, “Oh, I’m not 100% gay, so I must be straight.”

(Which, as I have learned, is utterly inaccurate).

 

_ See??? SEE??? This shit.  _

_ THIS shit is why REPRESENTATION is so fucking important, you know?? _

_ THIS SHIT is why I went to the pavement on killing Captain Grant. “Hero’s sacrifice,” fuck that. You know what’s more courageous than dying for the person you love? _

_ Fucking living with them for the rest of their long, wrinkly, monotonous life is what. Even if it’s hard. Guh. _

_ Fuck I’m really not supposed to talk about that, I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Shuri… or sam. _

 

:-) I won’t

You really get riled up about that kind of stuff

 

_ It’s important! _

_ Like… ok, I…  _

_ can I trust you not to post this on a fucking forum or something? _

 

Uh…. yes?

 

_ Or your tumblr? _

 

Jesus, I’m never gonna live that down, am I?

 

_ Not in a million years, Pidgeon ;-) _

_ Okay, Sorry, switched to my computer. _

_ So my publishers for The Winter Soldier called me in for a meeting after the launch of the last book. _

_ They told me I had to “straighten up” the fucking character before the end of the series. That it was “too much of a commercial success” to have the main two characters be in a same-sex relationship. One of them even told me is “didn’t make sense” for Captain Grant to have been engaged to a woman and then turn around and be in love with a man. Like, talk about some Bi-Erasure?!?!?!?! Come The Fuck On! _

 

Wow!

That’s… 

they really said that?

 

_ Yeah. _

_ I got… uh… upset. _

_ Then one of them told me that it was “acceptable” if Captain Grant died for Agent Harrison, because brothers in arms die for one another all the time in literature, and it’d be a ‘hero’s sacrifice’ with an ending that allowed Gretchen’s character the (straight-as-fuck) closure that she needed.  _

_ Like, okay, yeah, sure! I mean, she’s a total badass who I’m super proud of developing, a woman actively having to choose between her career and the life society expects her to live but No, Sure, Yeah, let’s make sure her ROMANTIC storyline checks all the boxes. She and Cap are the picture perfect couple because they’re best friends and she doesn’t take his shit! It totally underscores the differences in the way love works, and both the depths of and differences in feelings between Gretchen/Cap vs Harrison/Cap but... Blech. Sorry. Tangent.  _

_ Yeah… Anyway… _

 

That’s ok, nerd out at me about The Winter Soldier until you’re nerded out, I love it :-)

 

_ Thanks, fanboy. ;-) I’ll keep that in mind. _

_ Back to the original point. Shuri kept me in check until some asshole who needed an eyebrow trim told me that “Harrison’s character has had his brain tampered with, so his deviance is acceptable. But [i] really need to deal with this Captain Grant issue before we can shop around to the major networks.” _

_ I’ll never fucking forget it. _

_ I… _

_ Basically, I verbally flipped the table. _

_ And stormed out _

 

Holy Homophobia, Batman…

 

_ Yeah… _

////

 

Steve thought back to the tweetstorm that had thrown The Winter Soldier fandom into an uproar. It had been mostly coherent, but obviously needed the context of the author’s situation to make 100% sense. There had been speculation that James Rodgers’ twitter account had been hacked, that he’d had another breakdown, that he was high or drunk, that he was trolling. Then the publisher had announced that his series had been dropped and everyone went apeshit. There had been petitions. #FinishTheirStory had trended on Twitter for almost a week. But there had been no response, save a perfunctory (if heartfelt) thanks for their support from the author and the announcement that he was taking some time off. Of course, now that Steve knew the author - the man Bucky Barnes had become - he highly suspected the statement had been edited rather thoroughly by Shuri At'Chaka before being posted.

 

\\\\\\\

Suddenly a 100-tweet tirade about the pushback against representation in media makes a whole lot more sense.

 

_ Hey, but I’m not technically supposed to talk about it, ok? I keep the rights, intellectual property, and residuals, I shut up and don’t sue them for discrimination, essentially. _

_ I mean, it’s not a bad deal. It’s a gay man and a black woman against a bunch of old, rich, white dudes. Who’d believe us, anyway? _

 

How about any queer person ever?

 

_ Haha, well, besides them. I mean people who actually make it on the jury. :-) _

 

Touche.

 

_ Sorry, I kind of hijacked you officially telling me you’re into dudes, which I’m hoping was kind of an important point. :-) _

_ Please, continue. _

////

 

Steve’s stomach twisted into a knot.

Sam was right. He  _ was _ leading Bucky on. Hell, he was kind of leading  _ himself _ on.

Because there was no way he’d have a snowball’s chance in hell once Bucky found out who he was. He’d probably hated Steve since they were eighteen.

 

\\\\\\\

The point was basically that I’m a horrible human being, honestly.

I mean, I managed to keep my crush on this guy - my best friend - to myself for years. Had a girlfriend, the works. And one day he lets it slip that he’s loved me as long as I’ve loved him and… well, we were drinking and I…

 

_ You…? _

_ Please don’t be offended by this question. _

_ ….you didn’t hit him, did you? _

////

 

Steve was horrified. Not that Bucky would ask if he - Steve, or Grant, or whoever it was that Bucky had been getting to know these past weeks - would hit someone for admitting to being in love with him.

But that he considered it an important question to ask.

He hated moments like this. When he was so abruptly reminded how Bucky had been raised. Why he’d spent so much time at the Rogers’ home to begin with. Why he considered Sarah his mother.

 

\\\\\\\

what? No! God, No! I’d never.

I kissed him though

Might as well have hit him.

Might have been easier for him.

 

_ You’ve obviously never been clocked for hitting on a straight guy who wandered into a gay bar, haha. _

_ But yeah. I get that sentiment. _

////

 

As much as Steve really,  _ really _ wanted to chase that tangent, he didn’t trust himself not to lose courage if he didn’t plow ahead.

Telling the story of The Night to Bucky like it had happened to someone else leant a level of detachment to the emotional investment. He was certain the other man would catch on at any moment - hear the familiar story from the opposite side - and everything would come crashing down. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

 

\\\\\\\

I chose my girlfriend instead of him. Even though we both knew it was something absolutely… 

Kissing him felt like my world had just opened up. Like I could see colors I'd never seen before. And at the same time, as happy as we both were for those few minutes, I knew… I knew I'd just made the worst mistake of my life. Because I couldn't put it back, you know?

We both knew we were IT for one another, after that kiss. 

After everything.

And I still chose her...

It ripped his heart out. I saw it. 

////

 

I saw what I did to _ you _ , Steve almost typed. But his fingers shook, and regret made him timid. He continued like he wasn’t futilily trying to explain his side to the person he'd wounded so deeply. Steve wanted to put as much context into the story as he possibly could before Bucky called him out.

 

\\\\\\\

He was gay, we’d all known for years and it wasn’t a big deal. But I don’t think he’d ever really considered us as a possibility before…

He even told me he was happy for me and my girlfriend.

I was so stupid.

God, and he was so nice about it...

That was the last time I saw him. 

Best friends all our lives and I made him hate me enough in one evening to disappear.

 

_ Yikes. That sucks. _ _   
_ _ Do you mind if I ask what happened to the girlfriend? _

 

Oh. No, that’s fine. She was my fiance for a while. Then she left and moved home.

See, it took a while, but I worked myself up sick enough to get admitted to the hospital. (Didn’t really realize how much he had taken care of me day to day ‘til he was gone). I was hopped up on pain meds for an infection and kept asking for… well… not her. She’s a smart cookie, she figured out what had happened. Enough, anyway. I mean, he’d been her friend too, really. She was actually the one who informed me I was bisexual and needed to get my shit together. 

But that was months later.

 

_ Damn, that’s harsh. I get where the other guy was coming from, I guess. But still, that’s rough.  I'm sorry it happened that way. _

_ If it makes you feel better, you're not there only one with a story like that... _

_ I had to cut someone loose, after high school. I was the one who walked away after an ill-advised drunken confessional. It hurt like hell, but it was the best for everyone. It wasn’t cuz I was angry or nothin, it was because I couldn’t bring myself to stick around and be a problem, you know? Maybe that's why your guy ghosted. _

////

 

Maybe this was what a flashbang grenade felt like. Steve’s whole world view went sideways for a moment, then righted itself. 

What?

 

\\\\\\\

A problem?

 

_ Yeah, you know… I didn’t want to be The Other Guy. And I couldn’t bring myself to watch this person I loved live a life with his girl and his 2.5 kids and brownstone and whatever when I knew we could all be so much happier. I knew I’d either fuck up his marriage because I’m a selfish bastard who’d never stop flirting, or he’d start resenting his girl, which was No Bueno. (She was way too good for him in the first place. Haha). _

 

Holy shit.

 

_ I mean, it wasn’t that bad. I came here, met Shuri, wrote  _ _ The Winter Soldier _ _ as a kind of a grandiose wish-fulfillment fantasy, haha - and we all know how well THAT turned out!  _

_ (I also started writing the Kitty and Dot stories to help deal too, honestly, which is why they have a special place in my heart so thank you for taking such good care of them. I don’t know if I’ve told you that, officially.) _

_ I mean, I ghosted, which was shitty, but it was better to have a clean break. I don’t think I’d have had the strength to go if I’d had to tell him. Maybe that’s what happened to your guy. You ever get to talk to him again? _

 

Kinda

It’s complicated

 

_ Well, hey, that’s something! _

_ My guy’s probably close to celebrating his tenth anniversary or something. Probably got a couple rugrats or a dog or something. I left so he could be happy, you know?  _

_ I mean, there weren't that many places for me to go, he'd have found me if he wanted to. _

_ But hey, fortune favors the bold, right? Took me a while, but I'm better for it having happened, y'know? _

////

 

This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

No, no, Bucky hated him. He  _ had _ to hate him. What he’d done to his best friend had been awful, and he’d been right to cut Steve off. He had been selfish and cowardly and… and Bucky had only left because he thought he’d be in the way??

If Bucky didn’t hate him, than Steve could have introduced himself right away.

He could have been rebuilding a connection with the love of his life instead of basking in what he had been considering, essentially, a bittersweet emotional fling with a shelf life.

If Bucky didn’t hate him, he could have looked for him all those years ago.

Like Captain Grant had looked for Agent Harrison - Bucky's ‘grandiose wish-fulfillment’ - because Steve had never even tried looking.

But now he’d been talking to Bucky all this time without admitting who he was. If Bucky hadn’t detested him before...

Everything was suddenly terrible.

 

\\\\\\\

You don’t hate him?

 

_ Haha, hell naw. I’m probably even NEARLY mature enough to not get my heart broken all over again if I met his beautiful, perfect family. _

_ Nearly. _

_ But we’ve all got skeletons. _

_ Grant? _

_ You ok? _

_ //// _

 

Steve realized abruptly he’d been staring at his phone for nearly ten minutes.

He was not okay.

 

\\\\\\\

Yeah, sorry. Getting that tuna melt together.

I mean lasagna, lol

Hey, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later?

 

_ Sure, man. Enjoy pretend carbs for me, I’ll pretend my chicken and broccoli is mac and cheese. _

 

Sure. And hey, James?

 

_? _

 

Thanks.

I’m sorry that happened to you. 

////

 

I’m sorry for doing it to you.

 

\\\\\\\

But thanks for talking about it.

With me.

////

 

Please don’t go away again.

 

\\\\\\\

_ Hey, no problem. _

_ It sucks, but who are we but a sum of our experiences, right? _

_ And hey, I wouldn’t have met you if it hadn’t happened! _

_ Bright Side! _

 

I hope you continue to see it that way

 

_ Okay, Gloomy Gus. Go eat, your blood sugar’s droppin’. :-) I’ll ttyl _

////

 

Steve sighed and turned his phone off completely. He stood up in a bit of a daze and grabbed a box of triscuits from their space on the counter. He hiccupped a little and grabbed the fluffy blanket he kept on the back of the couch, and finally a box of tissues from the bathroom as he walked by. He calmly put both boxes on his nightstand, wrapped himself in the cuddly blanket, climbed into his bed, and pulled the covers up over his head. He stayed there until the shock wore off and the tears began.

The worst thing was, he had nobody to blame but himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds out.  
> he does NOT take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, peeps, Warning Time. 
> 
> There's a bit of an anxiety attack that happens in this chapter.  
> I know that might be spoilery, but I'd rather you know than not ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, don't worry. There's like... 2 more chapters of this? The angst will not go on forever. I promises.

 

\\\\\\\

_ Hey, sorry for being incommunicado the last couple days. _

_ Had to take a break from technology for a little bit. Mental health day. Plus I’m organizing this show… it’s for my art therapy students, but securing the venue has been a monstrous headache. _

////   
  


Bucky smiled at the notification and clicked on it, navigating away from his word document. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad to hear from Grant. He’d been worried something in their last conversation had run him off - he didn’t talk about his past very often. Definitely didn’t talk about The Incident on Twitter. But he felt inexplicably comfortable with Grant, possibly because of how much some of his statements and outlooks reminded him of Steve back in the day. Or maybe because Bucky had started associating that light, bubbly feeling he’d only ever felt with Steve before with when he got to talk to the illustrator.

Which was a beast he did not feel like poking at the moment.

 

\\\\\\\

No Problemo, mi amigo. Everyone needs a break from staring at screens every once in a while.

Hey, what’s a good name for a male space warrior? Like… Ajax, but more alien.

A show?? Like an art show?? 

 

_ Yeah. I teach art therapy for vets at the local community center. _

_ The theme of the show is “Show Your Happiness” in whatever way. I’ve got people submitting portraits, abstract sculptures, landscapes, mixed-media collages, all sorts of stuff. Which is great but WAY bigger than I’d thought it would be. _

_ Drojax? _

 

That sounds awesome, what a neat thing! Are you submitting anything?

I like the hard Drrr, sound… hmm. Dro-axe?

 

_ No, probably not. I’m just the teacher, it’s part of their therapy. _

_ Plus it’s over Labor Day weekend, which is what - a month from now? And I don’t really have anything ready to go that fits the theme. _

_ Is he a warrior-warrior or, like, a warrior-poet type? _

 

Think Klingon meets Maori tribesman trope. Big on family and honor. Not terribly good with subtilty.

I don’t see why you shouldn’t. You've got like 4 and a half weeks. You’re an artist, man. Artist it up!

 

_ I don’t know. I haven’t displayed anything in a show since art school. _

_ Not good with subtilty… Drax? Get rid of the hyphen and superfluous ‘e’? _

 

DRAX! YES!! <3 <3 <3 You Are Perfect!!! I’ve been hung up on this all morning.

Plus you’re super talented, ya doodlebug. Just go for it. If it sucks, hey, you’re in a gallery with amateurs, just put someone else’s name on it. :-)

 

_ That’s an idea. _

_ Hey, um… _

_ Do you think you’d be up for maybe - do you ever come to the east coast? _

 

Sometimes :-)

 

_ Well, do you think maybe, next time you’re here - you don’t have to make a trip or anything - but next time you’re here, would you be anywhere near New York? _

////

 

Oh, this was adorable.

Good on him, though! Bucky never would have had the balls to ask what he’s pretty sure Grant was asking.

 

\\\\\

Jesus, man, spit it out :-) :-)

 

_ You think we could get together and talk in person some time? _

 

Hmmmm……

////

 

God he was such a dick. Bucky smiled to himself. He only found it funny because he knew the answer was a given.   
  


\\\\\\\

I’m pretty certain that can be arranged.

When are you free?

 

_ Oh. Gosh, I mean, like… when were you thinking? _

 

I’m an author. I can do my work literally almost anywhere. Especially if I’m visiting the person who illustrated my manuscripts. When are you free?

 

_ Uh, wow. That’s… that’s great!! I mean, like I said, I’ve got the show coming up. I teach Tuesday and Thursday nights. Otherwise, it’s mostly, well… right now it’s mostly Kitty and Dot stuff, and some commissions. But any time, you just let me know. Unless it's like the day before the show, and even then. :-) Maybe we could get together before the launch of the first book! Or something. _

_ If that works for you. _

_ Oh man, I’ve got to get ready to go meet Sam, but I’ll get back with you soon. Okay? _

////

 

Bucky felt that familiar sparkler-feeling in his chest and grinned at his computer screen. He checked the time, then started a bit.   
  


\\\\\\\

Oh man, thanks for reminding me! I’ve got a late-lunch date with Shuri today and I haven’t even fucking showered yet, haha. Have a good meeting! Talk to you later.

////

 

Bucky got ready for the day singing old jazz tunes and smiling to himself. That beast made of feelings was stirring, but not in a bad way, and he was far more excited than he should reasonably be at the prospect of meeting Grant-the-Illustrator face to face. Part of him wanted to pack an overnight bag and hop the daily from O’Hare to JFK after his lunch with Shuri. He could text Grant when he got there to find out his address. The Reasonable Adult James who lived in his brain firmly staunched that impulse, but it was harder than expected. He put on his headphones and tried his best to channel his good mood into bopping along to Missy Elliot.

He must have had more of a bounce in his step than he thought, because he arrived at Shuri’s office nearly twenty minutes early. He waved at the new receptionist - well wasn’t he creepily perky and nice and who talks that fast, yikes - as he walked past and headed down the hall. He could hear Shuri on a call with someone, so he slipped into her office quietly and hung back near the door.

Shuri was on a video call. She glanced up as Bucky entered the room and smiled mischievously in his direction, putting up a single finger to indicate he should sit tight for a moment while she wrapped up. 

“Well, excellent! I’m glad we got everything figured out  _ before _ they printed. I was worried about the tilt shift, Mr.  _ Grant _ , that’s why I’m so happy you were able to join us. I know it’s unconventional.” Her eyes darted towards where Bucky was standing to make sure he'd realized who she was talking to.

A voice that Bucky vaguely recognized as Sam Wilson spoke back from her monitor. “Yeah  _ Grant _ . So glad you could  _ join us _ ,” it teased. There was the sound of clothing rustling. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I was late. I’m sorry. I was having a morning, ok?” There was a smile on the other person's voice. “A  _ good _ morning, but nonetheless...” He laughed.

Bucky’s heart stopped. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

He thought he would know that voice until the day he died, but he had to be mistaken. There was no way - No Way. He leaned heavily against the wall behind him as the conversation went on normally in the space in front of him. That big feelings-beast was unmistakable now.

“You’re always having a morning, I think that’s why they’re called mornings,” Sam retorted. Grant-who-sounded-just-like-Steve huffed.

“I like mornings just fine. I made big plans this morning, actually. Big, exciting, freak-out-overable plans. There may or may not have been an emergency inhaler use involved.” He laughed again. 

Bucky closed his eyes. He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't, because it wasn't Steve. Except he continued, retorting to Sam:

“So you can’t mock me, I’m sick - eheh, eheh.” 

Jesus H Christ, the little shit had not changed in fifteen years. Bittersweet memories of Steve pulling that crap as his ultimate excuse; after his heart surgery, after he’d started getting healthy, after he could wrestle and run and horse around with Bucky crept up in the author’s brain. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was - Why was he on a video call with Sam and Shuri??? He was obviously a friend. As an artist, maybe he got called in to consult. Bucky’s mind was racing to justify why this person had been plopped down in the middle of his - otherwise fantastic - day when:

“Steven Grant Rogers, you have been sick exactly zero days the entire time I have known you, you histrionic rock-golem,” Sam fired back. Shuri giggled. Bucky’s ability to rationalize the situation shattered and he was momentarily convinced he was dreaming. He pulled out his phone and scrolled desperately to the very beginning of his and Grant’s interactions. Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling…. The voices faded into background noise. 

There.

“ _ Have you spoken to Sam Wilson? _

_ was just wondering if you’d spoken to him today. _

_ If you knew who I was.” _

No.

_ “No, no phil. Just Grant” _

They’d never-

_ “I sincerely hope you continue to, Mr. Rodgers.” _

They’d never exchanged real names.

He scrolled through, skimming past conversations. Got to their last before this morning.

_ “It ripped his heart out. I saw it.” _

Oh christ. 

_ “Probably got a couple rugrats or a dog or something. I left so he could be happy, you know?” _

They’d been talking about EACH OTHER.

 

He’d fallen in love with Steve Rogers all over again, and Steve didn’t even know it was him. Bucky realized that he was breathing really hard.

No… no, he was definitely hyperventilating.

He slapped a hand over his own mouth and tried to get a handle on himself when he heard Shuri - beautiful, wonderful, amazing, clueless Shuri - from behind her wall of computer monitors.

“Well - Sam Wilson, Steven Grant - this has been delightful but I have to bid you adieu. I have a lunch… Wolfie?”

He could hear her professional smile melt in the silent space before she called his name. 

She must have looked up. 

Bucky knew he was a mess, but he was on the ragged edge of a panic attack and was barely holding on with his fingernails. His head was swimming. Shit, he hadn’t had one of these since… since… well at least Shuri was here. 

“James??” He heard her get up from her chair as he started to slowly lose his battle with gravity and sink down the wall towards the floor. “Bucky?!?” She was more than just concerned now.

The voices over the screens raised in concern as well. He didn’t make out much, just concerned tones and Steve’s voice, bordering on panic itself. “Wait, who? Who’s there? What’s happening? Ms. At'Chaka?? Shuri?! What’s happening!”

Beautiful, wonderful, capable, calm Shuri caught herself before she rounded the desk and doubled back. She slapped on that serene, professional smile Bucky always teased her about, and leaned into the camera’s view. “I’m so sorry,” she comforted the men on the screen evenly. “It appears my lunch date was a little early. Just a bit of a blood sugar drop. He’s been waiting a while, I’m going to head out. I’m sorry to startle you. Have a beautiful day!” She chirped, then abruptly hung up the video chat. Bucky had never been so grateful to be best friends with the daughter of a diplomat. 

Then she hopped the edge of the desk without monitors on it and rushed to her knees in front of Bucky, who was still just barely hanging on on any semblance of calm. “Can I touch you?” she asked firmly, but in a calm tone. Bucky nodded desperately, and Shuri leaned in for as close to a bear hug as she could manage considering size differences and the fact that he still had one hand plastered mindlessly across his own mouth. They stayed like that for a moment, until his breathing calmed down a little bit. Then she sat back on her heels and gently pried his hand away from his face. “You don’t have to do that here,” she reminded him. “You don’t need to muzzle yourself. You are safe. Who are you?”

Bucky took a shaky breath. “James… Buchanan Barnes.”

“And what are you?”

Bucky looked at her sheepishly through teary eyes. “You gonna make me do this?” 

His best friend leveled a stern gaze at him. “You gonna have a panic attack on my office floor? Yes, you have to. Don’t make me make you do it in Xhosa. Your pronunciation is terrible. Now: What are you?” Bucky sighed.

“I am the white wolf taken in from the land of winter, reminded of my true self, and released back to the earth that bore me. I am safe as long as I carry my pack in my heart. I am always loved and I am always wanted. We of Wakanda are never alone. God, that sounds so fucking corny in English.” He huffed a watery half-chuckle and leaned forward to bury his head in Shuri’s shoulder. She maneuvered so she was sitting against the wall next to him, his head still resting on her clavicle. 

“You think your whole ‘fear is the mind-killer, little death that leads to total oblivion’ mantra sounds cool in isiXhosa? It sounds pretentious, and some of the similes don’t even work.” They both giggled a little, then sighed as Bucky closed his eyes and relaxed. Episodes like this wiped him out completely.

“Please don’t tell T’challa,” he asked in a tiny voice. Shuri reached up and ran her hand through his hair.

“He’s our brother, Wolfie. He’d want to know.”

“I know. But it’s… it’s a stupid reason and I don’t want him to worry. He’s got enough going on.” He kept his eyes closed and revelled in the feeling of Shuri petting his long hair. Not quite long enough for her to braid since he cut it last spring, but getting there…

“Ah, and are you going to tell me what sent you into a panic attack? While standing by yourself in a dark corner of my office? You nearly gave  _ me _ a heart attack, it was very ill timing,” she teased gently.

“I’m so sorry. Next time I’ll have you put it on your calendar,” he hummed thoughtfully, then gestured with floppy fingers. “One PM, Bucky Panic Attack. One-Thirty: Lunch at Submarine World.”

They both smiled at the joke, then Shuri shrugged her shoulder to jostle Bucky a little. “Seriously, though, Wolfie. What happened? You sounded fine on the phone when you left to come here. Great, even.”

Bucky blinked rapidly to dispel the tears, but they bubbled up anyway. He just let them go. His body probably needed to purge a bunch of hormones now anyway. “Steve… Sam’s Steven Grant?”

“Mmhmm?”

“I think Steve Rogers is my… is Grant.” He sniffled, his throat choking up without his consent. He closed his eyes against an impending headache. 

Shuri still didn’t understand.

“So Steven Rogers is Grant the Illustrator. Are you upset because he didn’t tell you his real name? Because even I-” Bucky shook his head miserably (though it was more a roll side to side on her shoulder).

“No, we… we never. He calls me James Rodgers. But Steve Rogers is, is- I'd recognize his voice, Shur, even without context clues. The asthma, that little… That joke he made. I'm the one he used to… I think he’s my Stevie, Shuri. Steven Grant Rogers. MY Steve Rogers. From… from Before. From New York.”  He sat up and hugged his knees. “He asked me to meet him in person this morning.” Bucky hated when he sounded like this. Like a frightened child. But he was too exhausted to feel much of anything in the moment.

Shuri finally understood. Her face melted into empathetic heartbreak. “Oh, honey.” She reached out and grabbed him in a sideways hug. “You found out on the call?” Bucky nodded, hiccuping against more tears. He couldn’t figure out where were they coming from, he wasn’t  _ feeling _ much of anything besides exhaustion.

_ Oh, I dunno, _ a voice in his head reminded him. _ Maybe 19 years of being in love with a man who has just proved himself to be both perfect and unobtainable all over again? _

Shuri, ever the problem-solver, asked him softly, “Does he know who you are?”

Bucky tried to shrug, but only ended up shaking his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know… and I don’t know which is worse. That he finds out  _ now _ and hates me for leaving him, or if he… if he knows and didn’t… didn’t tell me… for some reason.” The idea of the latter being the case was viscerally upsetting and, suddenly, that beast made of feelings erupted. It burst out of its cage and took its claws to Bucky’s insides. It was like trying to cry with no air. He huddled up with Shuri, who just held him and pet his hair, whispering comfort and vowing revenge in Xhosa until he had let it all out.

When Bucky was finally all cried out, he sat up and tried to laugh. “I ruined your shirt,” he pointed out. Shuri glanced at the wet marks on her blouse. 

“That’s ok. I’ll make another one from this man’s skin, if he makes you do that again” she said sweetly. Bucky dipped his head. 

“Well, to be fair, I think that was about fourteen, fifteen years coming? So... “ He shrugged.   


Shuri stood up and extended a hand to her friend. “Well, I think the rest of the day can be work-from-home. What do you think?” 

Bucky smiled. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

They stopped in the bathroom, Shuri having given Bucky her makeup case to clean up because he was truly a vain creature, and then headed out. “Peter, I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Please take messages for anyone who calls or comes in,” she called to the exuberant boy behind the reception desk. 

“Yes Ma’am! I mean Miss At'Chaka. I mean  _ MS. _ At'Chaka. Sure thing! Will do!”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Bucky leaned in as they left. “What, are you recruiting from middle schools now?”

Shuri laughed and hit him on the arm. “You be nice. Mr. Parker is an intern from Northwestern, you grump. He’s excited because he’s getting paid AND college credit. Give him a break. He’s just… enthusiastic.”

“He’s something.” 

They headed out and grabbed Thai food on their way to Shuri’s, where Bucky spent the rest of the day. He was safe. And he was never alone.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve after The Video Call.
> 
> Bucky after The Video Call.

Steve was freaking out.

One moment he’d been calm, happy, joking around with Sam and conversing with his new acquaintance, Ms. Shuri At'Chaka. Then she’d gotten distracted by something off-screen and something uneasy settled in his stomach. “I have a lunch and… Wolfie?” Her eyebrows had crinkled in confused concern.

“James??” She said a little louder, obviously trying to get someone’s attention behind the monitor. She had stood up, halfway out of frame, and started to move quickly as a heavy  _ bump _ sounded over the speaker. “Bucky?!?”

Steve's generalized discomfitedness turned to a block of ice on his abdomen.

“Wait, who? Who’s there? What’s happening? Ms. At'Chaka?? Shuri?! What’s happening!”

Steve was desperately hoping it was nothing, that he was misunderstanding the situation. “Hello?” He moved his head around, like he’d be able to peer through the screen at a different angle or some nonsense. His face was starting to heat up and his heart was racing. He knew - he  _ knew _ \- what had just happened. And to think, things had been going so well today

Sam had picked up on the sudden change in tone as well. “Shuri? Everything okay?” 

Shuri false-started towards the right of the screen, then seemed to think better of it and leaned back down and into frame without resuming her seat. She looked utterly non-plussed, with a calm, professional smile. If Steve hadn’t seen her in the seconds before, he’d have assumed everything was as it should be. “I’m so sorry,” she quieted them with her professional tone. “It appears my lunch date was a little early. Just a bit of a blood sugar drop. He’s been waiting a while, I’m going to head out. I’m sorry to startle you. Have a beautiful day!” She shot them one of her disarming smiles and suddenly the video chat ended.

“No!” Steve shouted as the window went dark. He lunged towards the keyboard, clicking around. “We have to get her back, we have to… how the… why don’t we use SKYPE like NORMAL PEOPLE, what is this, how…” He clicked around but only managed to minimize both the window and the contacts list, ending up in Sam’s email.

Sam was both confused and beginning to become alarmed. He placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on Steve’s bowstring-tight back. “Man, what’s happening? She said it was fine. He just needed some food, you heard her.”

Steve shook his head violently. “No, no, Sam.. Sam, he  _ heard _ you, Sam. That was… that was Bucky. He heard you call me, call me… oh my god. He knows,” Steve ran his hands through his hair, grabbing it anxiously and making it spike up in every direction. “I can’t believe he found out like  _ this _ , oh my god this is a nightmare…” He froze, staring blankly at the screen with limp hands resting on either side of his head. “This is a nightmare. This is  _ literally _ a nightmare I had.”

Sam shook his head, still confused. “Dude, you talked to him  _ this morning _ . He’s gonna come see you, he ALREADY knows who you are.”

Steve slumped. 

“He… doesn’t know you’re…?” Sam started skeptically. Steve looked at his lap and shook his head miserably. Sam lifted his hand carefully from Steve’s back and clasped it with his other hand. He did this carefully, because his other option was to hit his friend as hard as he could across the back of the head. “You… invited him. TO BROOKLYN. To  _ meet you _ . Without telling him who you ARE?” Steve shrugged noncommittally, like Sam hadn’t been privy to a full 40 minutes of excited babbling over the phone while Steve rode his late-as-hell Uber to their meeting. “I… Steve… Wha… WHY?” Sam considered his only marginally infuriated tone a damn fine example of military-grade self-restraint. Steve hid in his hands.

“I thought… I thought, if I could just talk to him face-to-face, maybe… maybe it’d go over better. Like, if it was in person instead of over text or over the phone, we’d… oh god, I’ve ruined everything.” 

Sam wanted to be sympathetic, and his friend sounded honestly miserable, but he was swallowing down quite a bit of fury at the moment. “Yah, Steve. You have,” he bit out. He slapped the top of his thighs and stood up, heading for his coat by the door. That got Steve’s attention.    


“What… where are you going? I have to fix this!” He gesticulated broadly, panic sliding back into his tone. Sam leveled with him.

“No, Steve. No. You don’t get to fix  _ anything _ . You fucked up, man. You’ve been selfish, you’ve been thoughtless, you’ve been lazy, and the  _ best  _ thing you can do for yourself is to go home, shut up, and forget about Bucky Barnes because honestly?” Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Honestly, I think this might have been the best thing to happen to him because if  _ this _ is how you treat him NOW, I can only  _ imagine _ how shitty you were to him when y’all were kids.”

“No, Sam, I- This wasn’t how-”

Sam waved him off and grabbed his keys. “Save it, Rogers, I’m not in the mood.”

“Sam. Please.” Steve pleaded with his best friend’s back as Sam paused in the doorway of their office. “I’m sorry. I should have… I should have listened to you in the first place.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, you should’ve.”

“I need to tell him I’m sorry. I need to fix this. Please, Sam… how do I fix this? When you and Maria… when she, when she told you… how did you-”

Sam turned with eyebrows raised. “Are you actually comparing your 3-month catfishing operation on a high school crush to my  _ wife _ telling me she worked for the  _ CIA _ ??” Steve pursed his lips and nodded, plowing onward like he could bull-horn his way through the awkwardness. Sam scoffed indignantly. “Well, she sure as hell didn’t wait to tell me for months after I was cleared,  _ that’s for damn sure _ .”

Steve starred seriously at his best friend, puppy-dog eyes in full effect. “I lost him once, Sam. I couldn’t lose him again… I thought he hated me and when I found out he didn’t- I couldn’t see a way to tell him without it blowing up other than seeing him in person.”

“Did it ever occur to you that  _ you  _ should make the effort to go to  _ him _ , you agoraphobic nightmare?” Sam replied in exasperation. It was clear from the look on Steve’s face that the idea had, in fact, not even remotely crossed his mind. “Say you’re sorry if you have to, but I’d give him time to contact you. If he even wants to. Hell, he might not even realize  _ you _ know who  _ he _ is. Because as infuriating as you can be, he probably thinks you’re better than… this.” Sam gestured obliquely at Steve and the blonde at least had the self-awareness to look ashamed. “I know you. You’ll make this  _ so _ much worse for yourself if you go in now, all over-compensating and raw and whatever. You’ll get pissed, or you’ll piss him off, or you’ll give yourself an asthma attack, or all three.” Sam shook his head, anger losing out to his instinct to help someone so obviously out of their depth emotionally. “You know what Maria did? She laid it all out for me: the truth, why she lied, for how long, everything. Then she gave me an out - if I couldn’t deal with it, I could leave and she wouldn’t bother me ever again. Then she left and left me alone for a week and a half.”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Ten days?”

“Eleven, technically,” Sam nodded. “That’s about as long as it took me to parse out that I loved her for who she was, and not everything she told me about herself. Like… that I loved the core of her, and everything else was just trappings that we could get over. Sure, the trust needed to get built back up, but she made a point to tell me everything once she was able to. And she got me through the whole Riley, PTSD thing so... I mean, it worked out.”

“So… you think I should lay it out? Then wait?”

“I think you’re a dick who should leave this poor bastard alone to live his life, but this isn’t about what I think.” Sam rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose - he was getting a headache. “Besides, we can’t afford to buy out his contract right now. So just… do what you want but don’t burn the bridge completely, okay?”

“Jesus, the books…” Steve looked at the ceiling, overwhelmed.

“Just… don’t totally fuck this up, okay?” Sam requested, defeated. “Believe it or not, I was rooting for you, despite your mountain of bad decisions. I still am, but even I don’t really know what that means at this point. I just… I’m gonna go home and sit in the dark until my wife gets home.”

Steve nodded, cowed but accepting. “Okay. Thanks, Sam. You’re a good friend.”

Sam tried on a half-smile. “Yeah I am. I’ll see you soon, man.” And he left Steve to figure out how to straighten out the mess he’d made.

 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

 

It would end up being three days before Bucky decided he couldn’t hide forever. 

     After his nice, calming, totally-Steve/Grant/drama-free afternoon with Shuri, he’d spent the night on her couch. When he noticed his phone had died about halfway through their 7th episode of The Powerpuff Girls, he’d thrown it in his messenger bag and promptly - purposefully - forgotten about it. The next day had consisted of being shuffled out the door when Shuri had to go to work, reassurances that he’d call if he needed anything, and an entire day holed up in his own apartment in the dark trying to convince himself he was crazy. 

There was no way Grant was Steve Rogers. 

He was over-stressed and confusing his made-up world of  The Winter Soldier with reality.

I mean really? Of all people - Steve? 

It couldn’t be, Grant was just proof that Bucky had a  _ Type  _ with a capital T.

After some time (though he wasn’t sure what time it was because his phone was still dead and he hadn’t left the couch since he got home and wrapped himself up in a comfort-cocoon of fuzzy blankets) he nabbed his laptop from its spot under the couch and fired it up.

Yikes, it was already “tonight.”

     Trying desperately to convince himself he was crazy, Bucky Googled Steve Rogers’ name. A couple of random entities popped up, but nothing useful. A 52 year old insurance guy from Indianapolis’ LinkedIn, a 5th grader who’d won a science fair in Houston, a dad from Florida that Bucky actually thought was  _ his _ Steve for a moment, until he caught a glance at the copper-skinned, beaming family man in his photos. Finally, still trying for something - ANYTHING (besides texting the object of his inquiry) - to prove to him that Grant _ wasn’t _ Steve, he went to his email and copy/pasted Sam Wilson’s address into Google’s search bar. 

A facebook page popped up.

A personal facebook page. Bucky clicked on it, only slightly disappointed when he logged on to the site and no unread messages popped up in his face.

You know, for someone post-military, that man did  _ not _ have many security settings on his account. The author started clicking around, and bee-lined for photos. If Sam Wilson and Grant were business partners starting a new firm, they  _ had _ to have been friends first, right?

He shouldn’t have done it.

    Front and center was a group of pictures from last 4th of July. (Hell, it was only a couple weeks ago. Bucky remembered Grant talking about looking forward to a rooftop bbq). A man Bucky  _ finally _ recognized as Sam-the-agent-he’d-met-in-Atlanta was prominent in most of the photos, wearing a star-spangled apron and leaning over a grill. Brooklyn’s skyline provided a nostalgic backdrop - they must have been at least 15 stories up. About a dozen people milled about in the backgrounds: a striking woman with dark hair and aquiline features who Bucky assumed was Sam’s wife was also in most of them, and then - there was Steve. Bucky was equal parts enthralled and crushed, but he couldn’t stop staring. Steve looked great. Healthy, happy, and more settled into his body than Bucky had ever had the chance to see him, his arm was draped comfortably around both Sam and the woman. He wore a goofy smile below a ridiculous red, white, and blue plastic top hat that had “Birthday Boy” written across the front with sharpie. A half-dozen photos later, the sky dark and the photo significantly more akimbo, a selfie of the two obviously-intoxicated men beaming against a backdrop of fireworks was accompanied by the caption “Blackmail Material for when Steve wins his Caldecott X-D.” Bucky huffed a bitter laugh at the memory of making a similar joke. 

Well there went that theory. He’d never felt less relieved not to be working himself up over nothing.

And, like he’d willed it into existence, a new notification popped up.

*baBING*

\\\\\\\

 

_ Bucky? _

 

////

Bucky stared at the unopened notification for a long time, cursor hovering over the photo proving he’d fallen for the same guy twice. He didn’t know what to feel, what to think, and honestly he was just tired. He closed the laptop, shoved it under the couch, and mindlessly watched “The Antiques Roadshow” until he fell asleep.

     The next day was spent mostly at the gym, dead phone abandoned on the kitchen counter, with his old Ipod providing the soundtrack for the day. Bucky had come home, eaten lunch, sat around a total of about 90 minutes, then gone on a two mile run that had turned into nearly seven. By the time he had collapsed back onto his couch, it was all he could do to force himself to eat a protein shake and stumble into the shower before actually making it into a bed for the first time in days. He slept, dreamless, for close to fifteen hours.

     The third day, Bucky woke up and stared at the ceiling for a long time, willing himself to get out of bed. Everything hurt from going too hard at the gym the day before, and what hadn’t hurt from lifting he’d trashed with his accidental 10k. But he couldn’t hide forever, and Shuri was going to give him hell if she couldn’t get a hold of him - last time she hadn’t heard from him for this long after a meltdown, he’d nearly died. So he had to at least turn on his phone. (He was impressed she trusted him not to spiral, but then again Shuri had been there for his recovery. For his bottom. As scary as this was, it was nowhere  _ near _ how he’d been before Wakanda). So Bucky rolled himself out of bed, everything aching, and made his creaky way to the kitchen to plug in his cell phone. A bowl of cereal and half a pot of coffee later, he decided it had charged long enough and casually turned it on. A couple notifications popped up, nothing major - except the ones he knew were from Steve. Against his better judgement; figuring it was best done now than putting it off for later and letting this knot of anxiety grow any worse, he opened up their conversation.    
He was greeted by a block of text. Holy cow.

\\\\\\\

  
_ Bucky? _

_ I saw you were online, but you’re gone now. Sorry. I hope you’re not avoiding me, but I’d understand if you are. _

_ I’d really like to talk to you, if you are open to that... _

_ Whenever you’re ready. _

 

_ //// _   
  


Nothing until late the night before, then:

\\\\\\\

_ So it’s been a while. For us, at least... I’m assuming you’re avoiding me, which means you know who I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. I’d hoped… I don’t know what I’d hoped, but this wasn’t it. _

_ I didn’t mean to lie. I didn’t think I WAS lying, but Sam set me straight on that. For sure. I didn’t know what to do and panicked. Then I got to know you again and more and more time went on and I didn’t want you to stop talking to me. And I didn’t want to ruin the book deal or anything because of my own issues. I was selfish - I thought you hated me, and when I found out you didn’t, well… I needed to keep you around. _

_ This isn’t coming out right. Guh. You’re the writer… I’m awful at this. _

_ But I guess talking like this makes me feel like you’re just on vacation or something. _

_ I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to, but I want you to know I’m sorry. For everything. _

_ //// _

Wait… what? Bucky read, then re-read Steve’s messages. He knew, on the one hand, that this was Grant - STEVE, ugh, he’d have to get used to that - attempting to explain. Or apologize. Or something? But Bucky was stuck on “more and more time went on.” The author cycled through several emotions quickly, but a quicksilver-sharp anger started to win over everything else. He shot back a final confirmation text before he totally flew off the handle.   
  


\\\\\\\

Steven Grant Rogers, born on the 4th of July. Allergic to red food dye with a replacement valve in your heart, right? That’s you?

////

Bucky didn’t have long to wait at all. He shot off the message and almost immediately the little “seen” checkmark popped up. Then the dots. Those stupid, dancing dots.

\\\\\\\

_ That’s me. Hi, Bucky. It’s good to talk to you. _

////   
  


Bucky was still too mad to really take into account the olive branch. He could feel his cheeks heat up, and knew he should probably walk away and come back to the conversation with a clear head but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He had to hear it from Steve.    
  


\\\\\\\

How long did you know.

////

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is utterly unprepared
> 
> But just goes ahead and goes for it anyway.
> 
> (like usual)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter because there's no good way to break up the next bit. 
> 
> Sorry!
> 
> Longer chapter coming next time :-)

 

Steve hadn’t been  _ moping _  per se. More re-evaluating his life and choices while simultaneously attempting to move on from and also hold on to the hope for a future that actually involved James Buchanan Barnes in some capacity. He’d managed to not text Bucky, but he’d compulsively check to see if James Rodgers was online. That little green “online” dot never popped up.

Until it did. Steve couldn’t help himself.

 

\\\\\\\

Bucky?

////

 

Nothing for minutes, then that little green dot disappeared and more disappointment than he’d anticipated crashed over Steve. He'd waited another entire day before the urge to reach out got the better of him. (And maybe a beer or two). He’d opened his messaging app and waxed poetical for a moment, typing more than he really should have without really thinking it through onto that tiny screen at a person who may never even see his messages. But, he thought, at least he'd tried.

A day later, re-reading  Watchmen  on his couch, Steve’s notification sound went off. He dove for the phone, because he had been hoping against hope for days to hear anything from Bucky Barnes. He was not disappointed.

 

\\\\\\\

_ Steven Grant Rogers, born on the 4th of July. Allergic to red food dye with a replacement valve in your heart, right? That’s you? _

////

 

Relief flooded Steve and he couldn’t help the giant smile that lit up his face as he read the message. He relaxed, unreasonably comforted that his friend was even up to texting him the confirmation of his own identity.    
  


\\\\\\\

That’s me. Hi, Bucky. It’s good to talk to you.

 

_ How long did you know. _

////

 

Steve’s elation at finally hearing from Bucky was short-lived. This sounded… bad. But maybe he was reading into the phrasing too much. It was text after all…   
  


\\\\\\\

Well, that’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about a lot. Especially lately. Sam says I should have told you sooner, I think he was right.

 

_ How long have you known who I am, Steve. _

 

A while.

////

 

Steve hedged. He wanted to come clean completely, but this sudden, directed demand for answers had him off-kilter. This isn’t what he’d wanted. (Well wasn’t that a running theme here). He’d wanted to be able to tell Bucky how he felt about him, why he’d kept him in the dark in the first place,  _ then _  break it to him that he’d known the author’s identity from the beginning.

 

\\\\\\\

_ How long is “a while” Rogers? Because you’re the one talking about how “more and more time” has gone on while, what, you saw how far down the rabbit hole I’d go? _

 

What? No, Rabbit hole? Bucky, what are you talking about?

 

_ You’re trying my fucking patience, man. How long have you known who I am, while I’m over here thinking I’m talking to a completely new person? How long is “a while”? _

 

From the beginning. I’m so sorry, please let me explain.

 

_ are you kidding? _

_ ARE YOU SERIOUS? _ _   
_ _ SINCE THE FIRST TIME I CONTACTED YOU AND YOU KNEW??? _

 

Please, Bucky, I’m sorry. I thought you hated me. Let me explain from the beginning. Don’t log off.   
  


_ I can’t believe I let you fucking catfish me for a BOOK deal. _ _   
_ _ Jesus, I’m so stupid. _

 

Oh my God Bucky, how can you - please don’t believe that.

 

_ Are you and Pegs still together? Does she know you did this? _

_ Was this some kind of sick joke to you?? _

_ Revenge for me ghosting you two or something?? _

_ Or what, you figured out I was the one writing The Winter Soldier and decided to go all crazy fanboy on me or something? Like, I’ve had stalkers before, but this sure takes the cake man. _

////

 

Steve stared at the last few messages like they had kicked him in the teeth, true understanding of how little control he actually had of the situation finally sinking in as the telltale signs of fight or flight heated up his ears.   
  


\\\\\\\

No, god, Buck. Just hear me out, please. Nothing I’ve told you has been a lie.

Hell, I’ve been more honest with you these last couple months than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life. Please believe that.

 

_ NOTHING has been a lie? _

_ I’ve been calling you GRANT for months. For fuck’s sake, Mr. Rogers! _

_ Goddamnit, THAT’S why you have all those fucking puns. And I can’t even LAUGH because I’m too fucking ANGRY because I fell for a person who doesn’t exist! DAMMIT. _

 

I exist. Bucky, please. Listen.

When I figured out it was YOU who wrote The Winter Soldier series, who we were working with for Kitty and Dot… I panicked, Okay? You gave me the out to refer to one another by our pen names and I took it. I never lied.

 

_ Oh so this is my fault. _

////

 

Steve huffed, frustrated, and typed back.

 

\\\\\\\

Jesus, just Listen! Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn!

 

_ I’M stubborn? The one you fucking CATFISHED for THREE MONTHS isn’t allowed to be angry??? _

 

I freaked out!

I didn’t want you to back out of the contract just because you didn’t want to work with me. It was too important to the business, too important to Sam, I didn’t want my stupid history to screw up this entire endeavor. So I thought I’d just be Grant, and we’d talk as little as possible, and nobody would be the wiser.

And I didn’t CATFISH you, why do people keep Saying that!

 

_ Because that’s literally what you did, you… _

_ I don’t even have WORDS. _

_ You found out who I was and wanted me to work with you so - instead of letting me make my own decisions like an adult, you just decided to pretend to be someone else? Became my friend?  Did everything you could to get me closer to you? Just to keep me around for a Children’s Book?? _

 

I didn’t mean to!

I didn’t think we’d get as familiar as we did, and once we’d started getting close again I didn’t want to ruin it by telling you who I was. I thought you hated me!

I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.

And once I found out you didn’t hate me from all those years ago, I figured you’d be mad at me for not telling you who I was right away!

Which is being proved right, by the way - you’re not listening!

I tried, I almost told you so many times!

_   
_ _ Almost doesn’t cut it - You don’t DO that, Steven. You can’t just TAKE PEOPLE’S CHOICES AWAY FROM THEM AS YOU SEE FIT _

 

WHY THE HELL NOT, YOU DID IT TO ME

////   
  


He hit “send” before really thinking and then… oh god. Oh no. No, no… that was… Simultaneously more vicious and more raw than he’d ever intended.

There was a pause, and nobody was typing anything at all.

Damage control, damage control.   
  


\\\\\\\

I’m sorry, that was out of line.

 

_ Fuck you Steve. _

_ You chose her. _

 

Bucky

 

_ Go back to your wife. _

 

No, you don’t understand

 

_ Goodbye Steve. _

 

She’s in Lincolnshire!

 

*James Rodgers is offline*

 

I’m in love with YOU!

 

*this message will be delivered when James Rodgers is online*

////   
  


Of all the ways Steve had imagined this particular interaction going, none had anticipated the conclusion being so spectacularly awful. He sat and stared at the last, undeliverable message for several minutes, trying to force his brain to kickstart beyond “he’s gone, he’s gone again, he’s gone.” He slowly roused himself, navigating to James Rodgers’ facebook and finding - expected but still disappointing - that he had been blocked from viewing the page. Bucky had performed the near-impossible task of walking away from someone on the internet. Steve had lost him again.

No, wait.

  
A plan started to form. It was a harebrained scheme, and took Steve way out of his comfort zone. But all he could think of now was Sam. “Did it ever occur to you that  _ you  _ should make the effort to go to  _ him _ ?” he’d asked. Before Steve really knew what he was doing, he'd thrown an oversized hoodie over his jeans and paint-spattered white t-shirt, grabbed his duffel of spare everything reserved for the gym, and called an Uber. He popped his spare phone charger and battery in the bag and locked his apartment behind him. Fictional or not, if Captain Philip Grant could cross two continents and walk into a warzone, well… Steve could leave New York City. The artist flagged down his ride and hopped in the back, hoping he still had time to make one of the daily direct flights from JFK to O’hare.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri is surrounded by adorable, tender-hearted, well-meaning idiots

 

    Shuri was just wrapping up the last of her workday when Bucky burst into her office. Literally. Her door swung open with so much force she thought for a moment he’d kicked it, but he stepped through quickly and caught it before the inevitable hit to the wall, which told her he’d been well aware of how much force he’d used. He had a stormy look on his face that telegraphed, she was aware through years of acquaintance, Bucky was barely holding back an impulse to do significant violence to something inanimate. He closed the door softly and stalked to her desk. Considering the last time she’d seen him, Shuri was somewhere between relieved and confused at the change in temperament. “Wolfie, what -”

“He knew,” Bucky stated flatly, glowering at nothing in particular.

“”Who, what?”

“Steve. He knew. The WHOLE time.

“Ohhhhh, oh honey. Oh no… How, uh. How are you feeling about that?” she attempted, obviously floundering for a correct response.

Bucky smiled a vicious smile, all teeth. “Oh, I’m pissed.” He started pacing the length of her office, but waved his hand and shook his head angrily. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of spiraling. And I… I wouldn’t do that to you and T’Challa.” He dialed back for a moment, self-conscious about the necessity to reassure, but then went back to pacing and gesturing wildly. “Everything - Everything he told me was a lie. Built on this, this, this fallacy so he could get to me. So I’d do his stupid fucking _book series_ ! And I let him. I let him! I mean, god, I’m so stupid! He’s probably _married_ and I just let him play me like… And I actually -UGH!” He grabbed his own hair in frustration as Shuri tried to play catch-up.

“Wait, did you just say he’s MARRIED??”

Bucky shook his head dismissively and shrugged. “I dunno, probably!”

The lens on this particular outburst refocused sharply for Shuri and she gave her friend a critical squint. “Well did he _tell_ you he was married?”

“Of course not, he’s been lying this whole time!”

“I mean now, when you found out,” Shuri asked in far too calm a tone. Couldn’t she see Bucky was clinging to rage so he couldn’t feel anything else? Rude. But the question did force him to pause.

“Well… no. But-”

“What DID he tell you?”

The man sighed and plopped down in one of the less-comfortable-but-plush chairs facing Shuri’s desk. “He told me he knew who I was from the beginning. That he didn’t say anything because he didn’t wanna ruin his precious book deal,” he spat bitterly. “Ugh, I don’t know if ANYTHING he told me was real.”

Shuri went back to straightening her papers and shutting down her computer. “Well, you can ask him the next time you talk to him. After you’ve both cooled off and-”

“Not happening,” Bucky cut her off with finality.

“Bucky-”

“No. Shuri? NO. Not happening. I’ll finish out the contract because I’m a goddamn professional. And because Sam appears to be the only one in that city who has my back, weird as that sounds. But no. I’m not speaking to him again.” He said it with a kind of deathly finality that took Shuri aback. Still, she had to try.

She started again, gently: “Maybe you should hear him out. I mean, you leave out big, important things sometimes and _you_ don’t call it a lie. Maybe… once you’ve had time to think about-”

“ _NO_ , Shuri. _No_ . What do I have to tell you!” Bucky was standing again, but it wasn’t angry energy radiating off of him now. This was something she’d never seen before. Well… maybe once, a very long time ago. (Right before she'd dragged him to Wakanda. Overwhelmed by his skyrocketing popularity, drinking to sleep, taking stimulants to wake up, looking at her manic and admitting he didn't know what he was doing or how to stop. It had frightened her then too, not that she showed it). Now he had that same near-desperate look to him, eyes dry but there was something off about them. Like he should be crying, but couldn’t make himself. “Steve broke my fucking heart, Shuri. Twice.” He leaned heavily on the desk, trying to make her understand. “I can’t… I shut down last time. I broke down this time. If I can’t hold on to this anger, I…” he trailed off and his breath caught, frightened. “We thought the spiral after _Snowfall_ was bad? Not a candle, not a candle to this. Steve’s…” Bucky’s eyes unfocused and he looked at his hands. “Steve is in me. He’s one of the people who makes me who I am. Like you. Like our brother.” He closed his eyes tight. “That’s been ripped out twice, Shur. Big, raggedy patches of myself just… gone. At least now I got you, I got T’Challa, and everything else that makes me _me_ but you can only patch holes that big so many times before things start fallin’ apart.” He slumped back into the chair facing her desk. “I can’t forgive and forget if he’s gonna go and do something like try to make me meet his family, or try to be friends, or whatever. I… I can’t. I thought I could, before. That there’d been enough time, but now?” He shook his head ruefully. “If I’m gonna break, I’d like to do the damage myself, thanks. I gotta hold on to this anger, Shuri, and that means I can’t talk to him again.” He looked at her, raw and obviously expecting more of a fight, but tried one last time. “Please?”

“Okay,” Shuri nodded.

Bucky sat back, gobsmacked. “Okay?”

His best friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Of course Okay.“ She continued straightening her desk and prepping for the next day. “I mean, I’m going to riddle Sam for details like it’s the hottest gossip, because if he really _has_ been married this whole time only a _very specific_ god will be able to save him from my wrath, but…” she heaved a heavy breath and looked at him, then folded her hands in front of her. “But you need him gone from your life? Okay. I respect that. _You_ are who I love, _you_ are my family, and _you_ know what is best for you. If that changes tomorrow, that changes tomorrow. If it doesn’t?” She shrugged casually. “Than I run interference for the duration of your contract and try to sell that Guardians of the Universe series you’re working on sooner than anticipated.”

“Galaxy,” he corrected under his breath.

“What?”

Bucky looked at Shuri through his curtain of hair and gave her a timid smile. “Nothing… thanks, Shuri.”

Taking a big, cleansing breath, his agent and best friend smiled back. “Of course. Now, have you eaten today? You look a bit peaked.”

That startled a bark of a laugh out of Bucky. “Peaked?” he asked skeptically.

“What! It’s English!”

“Yeah, but -”

“And you do!”

“I do what?”

“Look peaked.”

He snorted and decided to let it go. “I ate a very angry late lunch then wandered around the lake for a couple hours before I made it here.”

“Ahh,” Shuri nodded knowingly. “Stewing?”

“Oh yeah.”

Shuri stood up as Bucky did the same. “Hmmm. Well, do you want to come eat dinner with me or go home?”

“Ehhhh,” he rubbed the back of his neck and thought a moment before deciding. “I should probably go home and crash. Rain check for tomorrow lunch?”

“Yes sir.” She mock-saluted as she walked him to her office door. “I expect you here by one or I’m checking on you like the annoying little sister I am,” she warned. Bucky smiled a bit more easily this time.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, Princess,” he replied. “And, uh… thanks. For talking me down. And for backing me up.”

Shuri pulled him in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. “Oh Wolfie.” She patted his back comfortingly. “You deserve so much more than any of this. Never believe otherwise.”

He hugged her back, chin resting on the top of her head, and blinked back tears of gratitude. It’d been a long week. “Thanks, sis.”

They stayed there a moment more then stepped back, Shuri admonishing him to tell Peter to leave if he was still at the front desk, and went their separate ways.

 

=================================================

  


    About ten minutes later, just as Shuri was grabbing her things to head out (for real this time), her intercom buzzed. Peter’s tremulous voice sounded through the speaker.

“Uh… Ms… Ms At’Chaka? Ma’am?”

“Peter, I meant it when I told you to go home.” She laughed. “I appreciate the thought, but you don’t have to stick around and look out for-”

“Uh… Ms At’Chaka, there’s a very large man here? Says he needs to speak with you? That-”

A vaguely familiar baritone piped up in the background. “Tell her it’s an emergency.”

“Listen, Mister.” It sounded as though Peter were trying to cover the receiver with his hand. “If it were actually an emergency you’d have a badge or her cell. Now please sit down or - HEY! Give that Ba-”

The sound of papers rustling, then: “Shuri? It’s Steve. I need to - HEY!”

“Well then don’t grab things _first_ !” Peter managed to sound imperious, even over the intercom. A fact that would have been more amusing to Shuri if a man who should have been in New York City hadn’t just walked into her waiting room. “Ms At’Chaka, do I need to tell him to come back tomorrow? I know you’re on your way out and it’s been a long day. For _all_ of us.” (Somehow she didn’t think that last comment had been directed at her).

Shuri frowned, confused but also slightly concerned. “It’s okay, Peter, let him back. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate if you could stick around until Mr. Rogers has been seen out?”

“Mr. Rodgers? But Mr. Rodgers left, like, five minutes ago,” came her intern’s confused reply.

The long-suffering literary agent sighed. “No, Peter. This is _Steve_ Rogers. The man you’re bringing back to see me is Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, oh, okay. I’ll bring him right - Hey, Hey! Sir, you can’t go back there by yourself! Sir!”

 

    Suddenly the door to Shuri’s office burst open for the second time in as many hours. A harried-looking Steve Rogers appeared, duffel bag over his shoulder. He was dressed in a sweatshirt and blue jeans, hair akimbo, and it didn’t take much to deduce he’d only just gotten off a plane. “Shuri? Ms At’Chaka. I need to speak with you,” he informed her urgently as he strode into the room.

    The smaller woman looked him up and down, then stood with a fluid grace and smiled professionally. “Mr. Rogers, I’m not sure what you would like to talk about, but I’m certain it can wait until the morning. I’m happy to direct you to a hotel for the evening so we can continue our discussion after everyone has had a good night’s sleep.” She gestured to his bag, and vaguely to his general person. “It’s obvious you’ve been travelling. You’re probably in no state to-”

Steve shook his head roughly, cutting off her polite train of thought and taking a step towards her. “Please, you don’t understand. I need to know how to get in touch with Bucky.”

Shuri smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but that’s not something I can help you with. He made it very clear-”

“Please?” There was a tinge of that same manic desperation in Steve’s face that had so frightened Shuri earlier in Bucky’s, but while it inspired empathy it didn’t move her resolve.

“I’m sorry,” she stated with finality. “You and Sam will be dealing through Mr. Rodgers’ representation from now on. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Here, I’ll have Mr. Parker get you a cab to to the Marriott. Our account.”

She turned to walk towards her desk and the intercom, but Steve followed, unthinking, and grabbed her upper arm. “Please, you don’t -”

Shuri’s eyes widened in alarm when Steve grabbed her, rather harder than he’d intended. He realized too late he’d unintentionally trapped her between himself and her desk, as well as invaded her space. Before his brain could tell his fingers to let go or his feet to back up, he had landed hard and was face-down on the floor with his hand twisted up behind his back. Shuri crouched next to him and Peter was standing in the doorway, looking over them both.

“Do I need to call the cops?” he asked seriously.

“No, bebe,” Shuri responded in a disappointed tone. “But if you could call a cab, I think Mr. Rogers could do with a good night’s rest. Call the Marriott, book him a room. Our account.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the boy replied as he scurried off.

The woman turned her attention to the man on the floor, checking with her free hand to make sure her braids were still in place. “Now, Mister Rogers. I _know_ you know better than to put hands on anyone without their permission, particularly in their own office. So. Are you going to calm down and act accordingly if I let you up?”

Steve nodded frantically. “Yeah, yes.”

Shuri let his arm go, but instead of standing the large man scrambled towards his duffel and started rifling through, looking for something more and more frantically. “I’m so sorry, God, I, I know what I look like but sometimes, sometimes I forget. That’s no excuse, I’m so sorry, you don’t know me, I could be anyone, oh my god.” Finally pulling out an inhaler with a look of relief, Steve sat on the floor, shook it brusquely and took a puff. He held his breath for a moment, then let it out and continued apologizing, just managing to stay this side of being a blubbering mess. “I never… I mean, I mean, hell a part of me still thinks guys your assistant’s size could tear me up but oh my God, that’s not an excuse either. I’m so sorry.” He took another inhale, paused for a moment, exhaling on more apology. “I never should have backed you into a corner like that. Literally, figuratively… Jesus, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. That’s… please believe that that’s not me. I, uh… I just.” He stared blankly at his inhaler like it held the answers to the universe. “I guess you know. But I can’t lose him again, I can’t. Even though I did this. I know I did. I can’t let things stand the way they are but I… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it.” He lay down on the floor, because he was exhausted, and he needed to open up his chest, and because he just felt sorry for himself. “I’ve ruined everything. He won’t talk to me. I don’t blame him… I was an asshole. I was in the wrong, I lied, then to top it all off, I was just… a dick.”

Adrenaline wearing off at her momentary scare, Shuri plopped down on the floor, crisscross applesauce and facing the mess that was Steve Rogers. “We’ve got a few minutes until your ride gets here, Mr. Rogers. Would you like to tell me what happened? From your perspective?”

The blonde man gave her an exhausted, wary smile. “Please, call me Steve.”

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sometimes still thinks he's a spy. (he's not, but he's good at dramatic entrances)
> 
> Also Steve uses Shuri as his therapy chicken.

  

Bucky got the text about two blocks from Shuri’s office.

 

\\\\\\\

_From Overly-Friendly Intern:_

_Mr. Rodgers, I know I’m not supposed to use this number except for emergencies, but a big man is being weird & demanding to see Ms. At’Chaka? And I know you just left and you’re on your way home, but could you come back please? People who are bigger than me don’t usually listen to me and I don’t wanna get arrested again. _

_////_

 

Uhhh….. The fuck?

Bucky turned on his heel and half-jogged back to the office. He walked back into waiting room to see a significantly-less-perky-than-usual Peter wrapping up a phone call.

“Yes, thank you. Yes, 11am check-out, awesome. Thanks! Thanks, yah, have a good night.” He hung up and deflated into his office chair like a balloon with a leak.

Bucky walked up and leaned on the front counter. “What the hell, Parker? Everything okay?” He was only about a 3 out of 10 on the Officially Concerned Scale, but it was ticking upwards as he got a load of Peter’s demeanor.

Peter gestured towards the hallway and Shuri’s office. “I dunno, Mr. Rodgers. Ms At’Chaka seemed to have the matter in hand. Literally.” Bucky frowned as the kid continued. “I had to book the guy a hotel room and call a cab and he’s apparently in from out of town… I dunno. I thought I was gonna have’ta call the cops, he looked like he was… I don’t even know, man.” Very helpful, Bucky thought with an internal eye roll.

“Hey, thanks for calling me, I’d rather be here and not be needed, y’know?” Bucky felt uneasy and started inching towards the hallway. “I’m just gonna….”

Peter just shook his head, gesturing with a floppy arm. “Sure! Why not. Everybody else just goes. I’ll stay here then. Wait for the Uber…”

Bucky heard voices coming from Shuri’s office and silently crept down the hall. If she needed help, he kind of wanted the element of surprise on his side. He stopped just outside the open door, listening. Then he just… kept listening. He couldn’t help himself.

 

==============================================================

 

“Okay. Steve,” Shuri started again, placating. “Listen, I am truly sorry for your predicament, but James specifically told me he has no wish to interact with you. Perhaps, with time, that wish will change. But I will not foist you upon him simply in the name of clearing your own conscience. Surely you care enough about him to let him grieve this loss properly?”

The blonde on the floor made a helpless little noise. “Why does it have to be a loss?”

“Well, from the way he understands it, you were only developing a relationship with him to keep your and Sam’s business afloat despite your, uh… personal history. He has assumed that any interest you showed in him began and ended with the business, that perhaps your indulging him by playing along in a friendship was exclusively to keep him from discerning your identity. He’s even insinuated he thinks you may be married, which…” Shuri clicked her tongue and assessed the man in front of her. “Well, I can’t say I could imagine a married man hopping an airplane to chase down a childhood sweetheart, but I’ve been wrong before.”

    Steve made a little wounded noise and sat up, not really looking Shuri in the face, and cradled his head in his hands. “I’m a monster, Jesus. I just… I couldn’t bear him thinking I didn’t care about him. That’s why I’m here, to try for a chance to make him understand.” He looked at his hands. “I lost him once. I… I can’t lose him again.”

Shuri was silent, and her patient, serene presence was calming in a way very few things were. Well, she’d asked for his side of the story. Steve continued:

    “I thought he hated me. For fifteen years, I thought I’d driven what turned out to be the love of my fucking life away because I was a selfish, indecisive ass who was too stubborn to admit that my own preconceptions - this whole idea of myself that I’d built up - all of it was built on flawed assumptions. I thought he _hated_ me, and I thought he had every right. Then I found out I’d be working with him? And before I decided what to do, I ended up actually talking to him? And the fear… God, Ms At’Chaka, the fear just wouldn’t go away. Then I got to know him and fell in love with him all over again. The more we talked the deeper I got, and the deeper I got, the more the thought of him inevitably figuring out I was this person he’d been so terribly betrayed by… this person he’d never want anything to do with… the more that thought just turned my insides to ice, you know?” Steve let out a bitter laugh. “And then I found out, well fuck me! THAT whole stance had been built on false assumptions too!” Self-recrimination reared up again and he shook his head bitterly. “Jesus, if I’d ever learned to trust him like he’s inexplicably trusted me his whole damn life…” Steve sighed heavily. “But I found out he didn’t hate me. Never had, really. And all I could think was all that wasted time. So I thought maybe… maybe if I broke the news to him in person… if we could _see_ each other, I could explain how fucking terrified I’d been to lose him again. But then… then he-” The memory of that video call hit him like an emotional sucker-punch and he hiccupped down a sob. God, he was exhausted. Shuri was right, he did need a good night’s sleep. “It’s been like a self-fulfilling prophecy. But I couldn’t just _let him go_. I mean, If Captain Grant can risk death in a warzone for Agent Harrison, I can get on a fucking plane, right?” He sniffed and laughed a little self-disparagingly. “Though it may be a little late for grand gestures.”

Shuri gave Steve a half-smile. “You want to risk death for him, then?”

Shaking his head through a wet laugh, Steve smiled. “Hell, no. Dying for someone’s easy. It’s living for them that’s hard, right? The good days, the bad days, the days where they’ve got the stomach flu or writer’s block or they’re holed up in their room because they’re sick of your face, but I tell you.” The blonde sighed a little wistfully. “If he’d have me I’d live every day for the rest of my life with that man. The boring, stupid, mundane shit and the exciting, amazing, fantastic days, all of it. That life we had for a moment when we were 18. I wanna give him that. Or, well… I dunno,” he deflated a little, like he was remembering himself. “Whatever we can manage now. Hell, right now I’d just be fucking grateful if he knew for sure I was never married. Bonus if he knew I’ve always loved him. Loved him then, even if I didn’t know how much. Love who he’s become. Hell, I loved Bentley fucking Harrison.” He gave another embarrassed, self-conscious laugh and Shuri could see exactly why this man was such an Achilles heel for her brother. Steve took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but can you tell him I was here? Please?”

Shuri’s eyebrows knit together, trying to navigate murky territory. Steve put up his hand, trying to placate an imagined protest.

“I’ll go. He never has to see me again. But… can you tell him I came for him this time? That I looked for him? That I… that everything I told him, it was true. Please? I just want him to know I was here.”

Getting up slowly, Shuri considered as she offered a hand to the man on the floor. “I’ll do my best. I’m sure you remember how stubborn he can be. He guards his heart well and you’ve gotten in twice already. I worry sometimes,” she shook her head and frowned. “He talks a good game, but he feels acutely. Despite what he does or says.”

“C’mon, now, Shuri. Can’t go givin’ away _all_ my secrets to a man you just met. Even if you did best him in trial by combat.” Bucky’s voice was soft and cautious, making what was meant to be a sarcastic bite sound far more vulnerable than it ought. It jarred strangely with the meticulously-casual body language he wore, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.

    Shuri let out a surprised “eek!” and jumped at Bucky’s unnoticed return to her doorway. Steve startled and the color drained from his face as he turned around slowly. He looked at Bucky with an expression torn between horror and hope. “Buck?” he managed softly.

Bucky addressed Shuri. “His cab’s here.”

“Wolfie,” Shuri started delicately, but Bucky cut her off with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He turned to Steve.

“Peter’s holding them for you, but he’s a cranky bastard. You can hear him from here, all the way from the front desk. I’d get moving if you don’t wanna walk. It’s hot as hell outside with this humidity.”

Steve opened his mouth and took a step towards the man in the office doorway, but Bucky put up a hand and closed his eyes. “Save it, man. I - I just gotta... “ He cut himself off with a shake of his head and Steve realized how close Bucky looked to crying. Eyes watery, upper lip tight, like always when his friend was trying to hold back the floodgates. The more things change, the more they stay the same, he supposed. The blonde just nodded, turning to Shuri.

“I apologize again for my behavior. It was… embarrassing. And unreasonable. I appreciate the accommodation.”

Shuri, unflappable as always, stepped forward and shook his hand good-bye. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Rogers. I understand there were extenuating circumstances. Please,” she gestured towards the door. “I’ll show you to your cab.”

    Steve nodded again and shouldered his duffel, pocketing his inhaler. Bucky didn’t move or even turn his head, staring at a piece of the carpet as Shuri, then Steve, passed him. As Steve walked by, careful to give the writer as much space as possible in the small space of the door-frame, Bucky dropped his hand and brushed his fingertips lightly against the back of Steve’s. For a moment, their fingers threaded together backwards, back of hand to back of hand, and then the moment was over. Steve took another step and Bucky’s arm returned to its protective station across his chest.

Even as the touch ended, Steve felt the a traitorous spark of _something_ lift a weight he didn’t realize he'd had from his shoulders. He inhaled slowly, calmly, and felt like he was able to breathe freely for the first time since leaving Brooklyn. For the first time since he had told Bucky his name was Grant. Hell, maybe for the first time since a heartbroken “It’s okay, I love you” had sucker-punched his heart all those years ago. As he walked away from Bucky’s stoic presence, Steve allowed himself - just a little - to hope.

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri and Bucky talk post-Steve.
> 
> More an episode code, but the next one's long :-)

  

    With Steve safely tucked into an Uber and on his way to the hotel, Shuri collapsed into her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She’d sent Peter home with many thanks and reassurances that “Yes, I’ll be fine,” and “Yes, James will be fine too,” and “No, we don’t have to file a police report, it was just a misunderstanding,” and “No, of course you wouldn’t have been fired for interfering, but we hope the opportunity never arises again.” Bucky was still staring at that piece of carpet, standing in her doorway like a full color, broody statue when she finally broke the silence.

“Well, it’s no wonder you two can’t figure things out. You’re both grown men with bodies like wrestlers and hearts like Lord Byron. My gods.” She rubbed her eyes. “So. How much did you hear?”

Bucky blinked owlishly and made eye contact for the first time, squinting at Shuri.

“Wolfie? You okay?”

The response she received wasn’t a yes or a no so much as a half-shrug and a head roll, like he couldn’t bring himself to lie and nod a yes. The younger woman smiled softly. 

“You wanna tell me what’s running around in your brain? I can practically see you chasing your own metaphorical tail in there,” she asked.

The man in the doorway sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s not a monster. I hate that he feels that way - that  _ I  _ made him feel that way. He… he actually came looking for me,” the last bit sounded like it was more to himself than Shuri. He shook himself a little and straightened up to speak more directly to Shuri. “You were right. I needed to hear him out, probably still do. I dunno… maybe tomorrow. You know where he’s staying?”

“Marriott on Main,” Shuri nodded. “I can get you the room number, it’s on the account.”

Bucky managed a small smile, which immediately morphed back into concern. “What about you? Peter sounded pretty freaked out when he texted me to come back. Said you laid him out? You okay? What happened? Why were you both on the floor?”

Shuri shrugged easily. “I’m fine. Your Steve was a bit desperate to speak to you. When I told him you’d made it perfectly clear you wanted no additional contact with him he became agitated. Put his hand on my arm without thinking. I had the poor thing in an arm bar before he realized what he’d done, I think.” Bucky’s eyes widened in alarm but Shuri waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I did more damage to him than he’d ever intended to do to me. Kept rambling afterward about how he forgets he’s big which amused me, but I believe it. Poor man almost had an asthma attack. I didn’t realize how serious it was until he couldn’t find his little spray-medicine thing… what do you call it?”

“He couldn’t find his inhaler?” Old - very old - fear surged through Bucky, like muscle memory, at the words.

“Inhaler, that’s it. Don’t worry, he found it eventually. Obviously. Otherwise we’d be having a very different conversation.” Shuri smiled. “Then we started talking. Well, he started. And that sounds like about the time you started skulking around, spying on us,” she teased. Her tone was friendly, and understanding was written all over her face. “I don’t need you to walk me home, Wolfie. Go home. Or don’t, but… be careful? Call me if you need anything. Will you be alright?”

Bucky considered for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need to process. Some stuff. I think.” He shook himself from head to toe, long hair flying into his face. He pushed it back and managed a more genuine smile. “I think I’m gonna actually go home now. Get some sleep. See how I feel in the morning.”

“Good plan. I’ll walk you out.” Shuri grabbed her things and turned off the lights. Locked up, they parted ways in front of the building and Bucky made his way home. 

    As Bucky lay in bed, drained and exhausted, he couldn’t help replaying bits of what he’d overheard from Steve and Shuri back in his head. He had been correct in assuming that holding on to the anger he’d felt would be practically impossible once faced with Steve’s side of the story. Hell, it was even less diabolical than even his brain’s best-case-scenario had come up with. He resolved to talk to Steve the next day, if he could manage. Like real, functional adults. Decision made, Bucky fell asleep with the ghost of Steve’s hand still sparking across his fingertips.

  
  


 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally
> 
> FINALLY
> 
>  
> 
> They're gonna have some face-time.  
> And they're both going in honest and open.  
> wtf, they're being... mature about this???  
> Who are these people.

 

 

 

    Steve woke up to someone knocking at his hotel room door at half-past six in the morning. He groggily both thanked his lucky stars his body was still on East Coast Time and cursed whatever employee had decided it was acceptable to start housekeeping services so early. He shambled to the door and rubbed sleep out of his eyes, prepared to thanks-but-no-thanks the maid service. He was instead greeted by an only slightly harried-looking, bright-eyed, well-rested Bucky Barnes.

Steve was suddenly very awake.

Very awake and _very_ aware he was only wearing gym shorts.

“Uhhhhhh,” he managed articulately.

Bucky just stared at him, blinking. Like he couldn’t quite believe Steve was there.

“You, um… You wanna come in?” Steve finally managed. He gestured vaguely to the room and opened the door wider, which seemed to shock Bucky back to the present. He shook his head hard enough his dark hair, loose around his jaw, swung into his face then strode purposefully past Steve and into the hotel room. He silently took a seat on the bed, watching Steve with a slightly unnerving intensity. The blonde crossed the room to his duffel bag and pulled on his hoodie before sitting on the bed next to - but carefully not touching - Bucky. He took a deep breath. Let it out. “So… good morning?” he attempted.

Bucky turned and faced him fully. “You’re in love with me?” he asked. It sounded like it was supposed to be more of a statement than a question, but uncertainty crept in around the edges.

Steve let out a breathy, shocked laugh. “Well, that’s not exactly what I thought you’d lead with… or what I’d expected to open with for that matter. But… yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Bucky paused, nodding, and looked away like he was digesting the information. There was a long pause. “So… Pegs?” He hedged, obviously uncomfortable asking.

Sighing a heavy sigh, Steve replied. “She’s back in the U.K. Happy. Married. Or engaged, or something. Doing some government work, last I heard. She’s… well, last time she was in New York City it was something to do with the UN. She came to lunch with me and Sam and… well… it was pretty awkward. To be honest, she pretty much seemed like she’d heard all she needed to hear once I told her I’d never tracked you down. Just gave me this sad little disappointed sigh and started asking Sam marginally invasive questions about his PTSD. You know how she can get.”

Bucky smirked. “Yeah…”

The blonde shrugged. “Actually, she’d probably fuckin’ love to hear from YOU, Mr. World-Traveler-Author-Big-Shot. The Winter Soldier series is basically the only thing that saved our conversation during that lunch. ‘Course, now I wonder if she’d already figured out it was you…” he smiled. “She’s pretty much lost hope for me ever leaving Brooklyn, I think.” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

Bucky perked up. “Well, you’re here now.”

Nodding, Steve stared at his hands which were palm to palm between his knees. “Well, I mean, yeah. I couldn’t just… the way I left things…” He turned to look at Bucky, so very sincere. “I’m so sorry. For everything. But especially for how I handled things after you found out. I kind of… panicked. I should have let you cool off. Sam _told_ me to let you cool off. Come to me when you were ready. Instead, I pushed, then got all pissy when you weren’t ready to hear my explanation exactly like I wanted you to. It wasn’t-”

“I mean, it wasn’t like I gave you much of a chance to explain yourself,” Bucky interrupted. “I just kind of assumed the worst and ran with it, y’know?”

Steve shrugged again. “I guess. But it’s not like I didn’t give you every good reason in the book to think the worst of me.”

Bucky looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to disagree but couldn’t. “I guess,” he hedged, shifting anxiously and brushing the hair out of his face. Steve tracked the motion, soaking in everything he could about the author. “You, uh… you really flew all the way out here from New York? Just for me?”

“Just for- of _course_ I came for you,” Steve blanched. “Hell, I wasn’t gonna lose you _again_ if I could help it. I’d been too late once before, I’d be damned if I was gonna make the same mistake twice.” His shoulders loosened a bit and he turned away, talking with his hands. “I mean, twice? How many times am I gonna let the love of my life just walk away! It’s not like - what?”

Bucky had made a surprised, strangled sound in the back of his throat that he’d unconvincingly tried to cover as a cough. He glared at Steve accusingly.

“You keep calling me that.”

“What?”

“The… the love of your… the love of your life,” Bucky trailed off to almost a whisper, gesturing a bit lamely between their two torsos. “How- I mean, I can’t… I’m not…”

Steve smiled softly, catching Bucky’s hands and stilling them with his own gentle grasp. He slid off the bed, crouching on the floor so he could catch the other man’s downcast eyes. “I meant it. Mean it. I loved you so much and for so long I didn’t know what it was. Because it had always been there; it was just how I felt about you. Only knew what it was once you were gone, really. And it’s still there.”

Bucky looked at Steve through his hair, eyes wide and face open. He tightened his grip on the hands of the man in front of him as Steve continued.

“I missed you. And I always… you were always there. I was always looking for you in other people. But they weren’t… well, I mean...well, I kinda fell a little in love with Bentley Harrison, but we’re just gonna gloss over that part I think…” That got a soft chuckle out of Bucky and Steve huffed a laugh with him. The artist reached up and combed back the hair from the other man’s forehead, unable to resist the urge to touch now that he’d been given tacit permission. Bucky leaned into the touch minutely, but it was enough to make Steve’s stomach swoop. “Then I started talking to you. This new, grown-up, amazing you that you’ve created for yourself. Got to get to know you all over again and, Christ, if you’re not even more perfect than I could have dreamed... I fell for you all over again.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m far from perfect, Steve. That kinda thinking is a recipe for disaster. I’m a mess, I’m-”

“You’re a person. Nobody’s perfect, perfect was the wrong word. You’re… You told me once it’s easy to die for someone, but it’s the living that’s real love.”  Bucky arched a skeptical eyebrow but Steve plowed on. “I want to live for you, Buck. I wanna spend picturesque mornings and cranky afternoons with you. I wanna hear about all the insane stuff that goes through your brain when you’re writing, and take care of you when you’re sick, and get annoyed at you when you leave your dishes in the sink. If you’d have me, I’d spend every day for the rest of my life with you. But I… I know that’s…,” Steve looked down at their clasped hands, unable to maintain eye contact. “At this point, I’ll walk away without a word. Leave you to your life and never come back if you want. And I wouldn’t blame you. But I can’t promise you I’ll ever stop loving you, because I won’t lie to you. And I don’t know if that’ll ever be the case.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes closed at the same time he squeezed Steve’s hands. “Damn, Steve.” He breathed deeply for a moment. “Never were one for subtlety, were you?" He laughed, a bit overwhelmed. "That’s… ah… That’s a lot to unpack. It’s a lot to work through.” He leaned forward, putting his forehead to Steve’s, and smiled contentedly. “God, I’d missed you. Here I thought you were gonna be the guy who finally made me forget Steve Rogers, then it turned out- twice you’ve done this to me. Jesus, _what_ you do to me, it’s not fair.”

Steve closed his eyes, enjoying their proximity. “It’s okay. I love you,” he confessed softly. He heard the author’s breath catch in his throat.

“Say it again.”

Eyes still closed, he repeated himself in a whisper. “I love you.”

“Steve…”

The blonde opened his eyes to look Bucky square in the face. “I love you,” he said, confidence building in his voice.

Hair falling away from his face as he moved, Bucky pulled away and sat up. "Say it again."

Steve followed, keeping himself in the other man’s personal space as they moved up and back.

“I love you.”

He was crowding Bucky now, fencing him in between his arms, hands flat on the bed on the outsides of his legs. Bucky was leaning back and bracing himself on arms outstretched behind him. He met blue eyes with a tentative, awe-struck confidence of his own.

“Say it again.”

They were so close. Steve could feel the other man’s body heat.

“I love you.”

Bucky smiled, delighted.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again?”

“I love y-” He couldn’t finish as Bucky surged up and crashed their lips together. They kissed like the world was ending. Or beginning, who could say. There was a great rushing sound in Steve’s ears as everything in his brain focused on the man in front of him. Soft lips on soft lips in a electric, open-mouthed kiss that could almost be considered languid. Then Steve felt the spark of Bucky’s tongue against his and it was like lightning had struck in his brain. It went on for minutes, or seconds, or hours. He couldn’t be sure. Just the press of mouths together, the feeling of one another’s breath, five-o’clock shadows rasping, and the lightest brushes of tongue and teeth which made Steve feel alternatively like he was going to collapse or like he could climb Mt Everest. When they broke apart they were both out of breath like they’d run a marathon, hearts pounding and lips bruised red. Neither of them had moved their hands from the bed.

    Bucky was looking at him wide-eyed and open, cheeks flushed. He scooted backwards on the bed as Steve stood to give him some more space. “Sorry, sorry,” the brunette stuttered out. He looked slightly dazed and certainly delighted, but not the least bit apologetic. “I just, you’re so… and you kept saying…” He let out a whoosh of breath. “Wow.”

Steve couldn’t help it. He giggled. “Wow, indeed. That was…”

Bucky thoughtlessly fanned himself with one hand and Steve broke out into a full-on chuckle. It was met with a glare.

“Hey, don’t you be laughing at me, y’punk! Look’it you! You’re probably a radish all the way down to your belly button.”

Steve smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You wanna find out?” he asked, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. Bucky looked up at him like a starving man being offered a steak dinner. “God yes,” he replied earnestly, but then smiled apologetically and shook his head, blinking. “But not now. We still got… I’m still not sure how this whole thing…” he trailed off and waved his hand, gesturing between the two of them. Steve felt his heart plummet, and it must have shown on his face because Bucky was suddenly back in his personal space. The brunette stood, making them nearly face to face, and ran comforting fingers through the hair behind his ears, holding his head to keep him from ducking away. “Hey, now. Don’t be like that. I’m not… I didn’t say- Ugh, why am I so shit at this?”

That managed to get a smile out of Steve, who replied archly, “You save all the articulate declarations for your characters, I guess.”

Bucky tucked his face against Steve’s shoulder comfortably, wrapping his arms around the illustrator’s torso.

“Damn right,” he mumbled.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and settled his cheek against the author’s hair, enjoying a moment he’d been certain for years would never come. They stood there, taking the opportunity to enjoy the other’s proximity. Once Bucky had gathered his thoughts, he took a deep breath and straightened up. The two men separated and resumed their original positions on the bed, sitting next to one another. Anything but subtle, Steve took the other man’s more open body language as a sign that touching was now allowed and shifted sideways so their legs bumped together. Bucky ran an anxious hand through his hair again and Steve wanted to follow it with his own fingers - pull him forward and continue what they’d started - but forced himself to focus.

“Listen,” Bucky started. “I just need some time, okay? I mean, we’re both fuckin’ idiots, and we both love each other. That’s established.”

Steve couldn’t help the little leap his heart gave at the casual admission.  
“I mean, you came out and found me, even if I didn’t really want to be found. Nobody’s ever… ever really… I mean. Well, what I’m saying is that I’d be a god-damned idiot to tell you to fuck off at this point. Not to mention I’d regret it for the rest of my life, obviously.”

The blonde smiled and nodded, hope and fondness and love making a comfortable home under his heart. Bucky sighed and continued.

“But I’m gonna need some time, man. I need to… You’ve had months to wrap your head around the whole - It’s You! Thing. Me? I found out, what, four days ago? That the person I fell in love with over the goddam internet is the low-key love of my life? Like… this is a lot. And the… okay, I won’t call it catfishing, but…”

Steve winced. “Yeah, I… I understand,” he replied quietly.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand reassuringly, playing with his fingers a bit aimlessly as he talked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. This is… this is more than- I just need a little time. To, to… wrap my head around it.” He nodded his head, a shocked little smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. “You, I mean… earlier you practically just… I mean- The answer, I’m pretty sure, is, is yes.” Bucky glanced nervously at Steve, who perked up slowly, too cautious to really hope Bucky meant what he thought he might. Cautious, that is, until he met the brunette’s eyes and neither could hold back their pure, joyful grins anymore. Bucky ducked his head again, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact but obviously happy. “I mean - if you mean it. Yes. If you asked me again. For real. Later. The answer would be… would be yes. Like, in the future. If you really m-”

“I mean it,” assured Steve emphatically.

Bucky grinned. “Good. Good. That’s, uh… that’s good. And yeah, then… it would be- would be yes.”

“Will be,” Steve corrected, because he sure as hell wasn’t backing down now. Bucky, if possible, just looked more shocked and pleased.

“That’s… gotcha.” He beamed at Steve for a moment more, then cleared his throat. “Ahem! Yeah, but, so… but for _now_ though. I mean, there’s - I just need some time to wrap my head around this. Can I… can we start over, a little?” His smile faltered a little and he looked so young for a moment. “Maybe just back up a bit? Cuz as much as I really… _really, god really_ kinda just wanna jump into your bed and stay there for the rest of time, I also kinda really wanted to kick your ass for breaking my heart like twelve hours ago so I just… need some time to process. Can we do that?” He looked so apologetic, so worried, asking for something so reasonable. It was so much more than Steve had ever hoped, and it broke his heart all over again. He stole his fingers back from Bucky and placed both his hands gently on either side of the other man’s face, cradling it and trying to convey how serious he was as he responded.

“James Barnes, you take as much time as you need. I will be here when you’re ready.”

Bucky’s relieved sigh against his face was all the vindication Steve needed that - for once - his had been the exactly correct response. Time he could give. Steve had all the time in the world for Bucky Barnes, now that they knew where they stood with one another. He leaned in and kissed the brunette gently, then pulled back and dropped his hands, smiling. “We can start from the beginning. We can go radio-silent for a couple days or a couple months. We can do whatever you want to do at whatever pace you want to go. Whatever makes you comfortable. Because honestly?” his eyes was starting to well up, but fuck it. “Another chance with you is more than I’d ever dreamed of. I already feel lucky enough you’re even willing to speak to me, hear me out. That you… that you’re - That we might actually have a… a future? Together? Honestly, that’s-” He sniffed and, okay, here came the waterworks.

At least they were happy tears? Steve was just so overwhelmed.

And grateful.

And tired.

That probably couldn’t be helping matters.

Carefully, Bucky thumbed away the tears from Steve’s face and the gentleness of the action was enough to start a whole new wave.

“Hey. Hey, Pipsqueak, don’t do that. I just wanna slow things down a little. I still wanna talk to you, every day if we can.” He pulled the blonde in for an enveloping hug, rubbing his back comfortingly. Steve buried his face in the crook of Bucky's neck and the feeling was so very familiar and so very comforting. “Maybe we can even talk on the phone now, or over Skype now you’re not terrified I’m gonna find out your secret identity. That okay with you?”

Steve nodded emphatically, sitting up and sniffling the last of his outburst away. “Yeah, yeah of course it’s okay. I _love_ you.”

Bucky smiled at the unconscious repraise. “Aww, Stevie, sweetheart,” he muttered fondly before kissing him sweetly. “I love you too. We’ll figure this out.”

    They sat together in silence for a few moments until Steve pulled himself together. That was when Bucky finally looked at the time. Rocking back, he slapped his hands on his knees and shifted gears entirely. “Okay, I’m assuming you’re headed back to New York today?” Steve confirmed and Bucky nodded, thinking. “Okay, well then. We’ve DEFINITELY gotta get you breakfast at Lucy’s, they’ve got great waffles and yes, you can eat there. So get dressed and grab your shit, Rogers.” He stood up and beamed. “I’m taking you on a whirlwind tour of my city.”

 

********

 

    By the time Steve said goodbye to Bucky at the entrance to security at O’Hare that afternoon (the latter pulling him in for a soft, lingering kiss Steve was pretty sure he’d felt in his toes), they’d had breakfast, he’d tried traditional Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, and they’d been to both the lake and the Cloud Gate. They had also officially exchanged all the contact information they could think of. Addresses, phone numbers, email addresses - Bucky had even added Steve to his meticulously-guarded Instagram friends list. Exhausted and happier than he could ever remember being, the illustrator collapsed into his window seat, bundled himself into his sweatshirt, and slept soundly all the way to JFK. It was the best rest he’d gotten in months.

    He landed and was greeted by a new text message.

\\\\\\\

 

_From Bucky:_

_Hope you had a good flight. I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day. (Some dude I know from forever ago dropped in and I ended up playing tour guide all day. Rude, right?) ;-)_

_Text me when you get home?_

 

////

Then, separately, like he had needed to work up to actually typing it out:

 \\\\\\\

 

_I love you._

 

////

Steve was certain he looked like a crazy person, grinning so fondly at his phone, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He shot back a quick reply.

 \\\\\\\

 

Just landed. I’ll let you know when I’m home.

Love you too.

 

////

  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later
> 
> A little phone call interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some chapters, bc I broke up a couple long chapters into smaller ones over the course of posting.  
> Also, in wrapping up their storyline, I may or may not have added like a couple... Hundred... Words. (A couple times now)

 

“How’s the setup for the show going?”

“Oh fine. The woman who rented us the space keeps saying she needs to approve every little thing, but it’s just a big warehouse space. And she never has a problem with anything. I think she just wants to feel involved.”

“Fun times. You ever decide if you’re gonna put anything in it? Or are you still worried you’re gonna get outshone my some students?” Bucky teased his… boyfriend? Sure. It had been a couple weeks. But Steve’s brain always stuttered over a label for whatever this was. James Barnes was just his… Bucky.

“Hah, never. They’re all amazing. And if I’m the teacher who inspires someone to go from art therapy to professional sculptor or something I’ll be the first person at their shows.” He hesitated, then admitted,” Though, yeah… actually I’ve been working on something since I came back from Chicago.”

Bucky made a little indignant noise. “What?! And this is the first time I’m hearing about it? It’s been over a month!”

“I know, I know,” the artist soothed, amused. “But I started it when I first got back. I didn’t know how much time you were gonna need, I thought it’d give me something to keep me busy if you weren’t ready for, like, keeping in contact every day yet or whatever.”

“Well, sorry to totally throw  _ that _ particular theory to the curb. Hope I didn’t take up ALL your anticipated free time,” Bucky scoffed. For a few seconds there was silence over the line, though Steve could still hear the water running. (The author was doing dishes, and if the simple domesticity of Bucky calling him to talk while he did housework tugged a little on Steve’s heartstrings, well, nobody had to know but him.) “Sorry about that, though… at first.”

“Buck,” Steve admonished seriously. “I told you to take the time you needed and I meant it.”

“Yeah...but that first week was-”

“Hey, it wasn’t like you went totally off the grid. And it was way less time than I’d anticipated. I was expecting at least eleven days.”

That startled a little laugh out of Bucky. “Eleven? That’s… specific.”

“It’s a long story. And not mine,” Steve let his smile bleed into his voice. “Anyway, you called me way sooner than I thought you would. You’re good.  _ WE’re _ good.”

The artist could practically hear Bucky’s relief through the connection. “Good. So. You’ve got a piece? I wanna see! Can you show me?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to laugh at his boyfriend. “Uh uh, no way. Nobody sees it before the show. Maybe I’ll take some pictures there and send ‘em.”

“Awww, c’mon!”

“It’s not even done!”

“Pleeease, Stevie?“ 

The artist’s heart melted a little at the endearment, but he managed to hold steady. “Don’t you Stevie me,” he chastised fondly. “If you wanna see it so bad, come visit.”

“Well maybe I will,” shot back Bucky, surprisingly serious.

    It took Steve off-guard. They’d only been whatever-they-were-after-Chicago for about five weeks. Less, if you didn’t count the better part of a week Bucky had stuck to sporadic texts while he wrapped his head around the situation. Steve was doing his level best to ensure he let Bucky take initiative on any and all big steps in the relationship, until they got to the point where he could totally trust Steve again. Honestly, the artist hadn’t even thought he’d try to bring up visiting one another again until the holidays - his comment had been meant more as a joke than anything else. He stuttered, off-kilter, then countered with an equally serious, “Any, uh… Any time, Buck. You show up, I’d be thrilled to see you. You can always stay here, or there’s a great hotel down just a couple blocks you could-”

“You’re a gentleman, Mr. Rogers, but I’m not staying in a hotel when I come to see you,” Bucky laughed.

Steve thrilled a bit that it was “when” and not “if”, and smiled. “Good. That’s… I’m glad that’s the case. Though it’d be okay. You know, if you did-”

“Uh huh, yeah…  _ with _ you maybe.” Steve could hear Bucky’s fond eye-roll over the phone. The water stopped running in the background. “Now, do I get to see a picture of your super-secret project?”

“No! I told you, it’s not even done. The show’s not until next week anyway.” He was persistent, Steve’d give him that.

“Fine,” he replied archly. Somehow, the artist didn’t think that would be the end of the matter. “You see there’s new episodes of Bake Off on Netflix?”

Steve chuckled, he couldn’t help it. “Oh, here we go…”

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is running his students' art show and is nervous as hell.
> 
> Bucky takes a leap of faith. Like... A big one.
> 
>  
> 
> Shuri just wants to be able to go to brunch with her brothers

 

 

 

Steve tugged at the cuffs of his blue button-down shirt and tried to tamp down the nerves. He was always like this when he ran a show, even if the contributors this time were all technically amateurs. He still wanted everything to go smoothly. This was potentially the largest fundraiser for the art therapy program they’d get for the year just from door fees and the bar. Plus, he was proud of these students - men and women who’d been through any number of traumas, opening up enough not only to create, but to share what and where they found peace and happiness. So he had a vested interest in everything going well.

    Not to mention, tucked in the back corner, was the first piece he’d shown under his own name since he’d graduated art school.

 

“Steve!”

The blonde started at the sound of his name and turned around just in time to catch an enthusiastic Maria Wilson-Hill. He returned her hug gratefully and smiled at Sam over her shoulder.

“Hi Maria! Sam! Thanks for coming!”

She pulled out of the hug and beamed her full-wattage smile at him, slugging him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course! We wouldn’t miss this. Besides, how could I pass up seeing something Sam did actually on _display AND_ an original of yours. You know, beautiful as they are, the only works of yours I’ve ever seen have been the illustrations Sam brings home for those dog books-”

“Don’t call them that,” chorused Sam and Steve together. They looked at eachother, laughing at their synchronization, as Maria rolled her eyes fondly.

After a beat, Steve glared half-heartedly at Sam. “I thought you weren’t gonna tell anyone I put something in the show,” he accused. Sam, for his part, looked scandalized.

“You know Maria doesn’t count,” he countered. “Besides! You told Barnes!”

“Yeah, but he’s in Chicago and won’t see it until I want him to. ‘Sides,” Steve shifted uncomfortably. “It’d be a little weird if he wasn’t aware of it _at all_.” Maria cut in and looped her arm around Steve’s.

“Okay, Nervous Nellie. Time for the grand tour. Show me the gallery! Show me your students! Tell me about everything. Go full-on art-nerd! I’ll love it.” They started into the rows of pieces. “And make sure to show me Sam’s please? It’s a must-see for me.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to blush and turn bashful as Steve caught on. “Wait, he didn’t show you?” the artist asked skeptically.

Maria shook her head.

“Oh, this is gonna be great.” Steve grinned like the cat who caught the canary and led Maria into the warehouse space, Sam lagging only a few steps behind.

  


*****************************************************

 

“Shuri? Tell me this isn’t a terrible idea.”

    Bucky Barnes stood on the sidewalk, baseball cap pulled down over his face despite the early-September heat, talking in to his cell phone urgently. Shuri, of course, just laughed her jangle-bells laugh.

“Are you seriously getting nervous _now_ Wolfie? You’re THERE! You are literally standing _in Brooklyn_ . I’d have thought the decision not to renew the lease on your apartment would have been the time to rethink your strategy. I told you when you did it: I’ve lived with you before and never again! I’ve _never_ met someone so meticulous about a kitchen, honestly. You were damn sure of this then, where’s that confidence gone, eh?”

“You are Not. Helping. Shur.”

“I’m sorry.” She did not sound sorry. “Listen, you know as well as I that there’s nothing holding us here in Chicago but nostalgia and familiarity at this point. Lisabeth relocated to Vancouver for her show, Nat and Clint have _always_ been in DC, and with T’Challa getting his ambassador position at the UN finalized, I was already mentally cursing your aversion to the city. So you know I’m 100% for this. But still, I’m not the one who decided on all this without checking with his super-new, super-old boyfriend. So that risk’s still on you.”

“Shurrrrrrrr,” Bucky whined petulantly. His pseudo-sister just giggled. (She was _not_ his best friend when she was being this helpfully annoying - it was solidly little-sister territory).

“James Barnes,” she chastised. “You are as happy as I’ve ever seen you. If this is the next step, this is the next step. But if it’s not, you’re just surprising him at his show! Being supportive! And nosey, but that’s normal.” That got an amused little chuf out of the author. She continued, “You don’t have to breathe a word about moving to him if you don’t want to. It’s your life. You can stay in Chicago if you want, I can stay too. This is an opportunity for us to be closer to family, to relocate before the agency gets too big to move. But it’s not unreasonable for us to stay. T’Challa will still be closer than he was when he was based at home.”

Bucky smiled. “You just wanna keep Parker once he graduates and moved home to Queens,” he teased, relaxing a bit.

“He is incredibly good at curating our social media,” Shuri admitted with a smile.

“And Steve HAS been awfully evasive about this piece he put in the show…”

Shuri giggled again. “Well, Wolfie, we both know that alone is practically catnip for you. I’m surprised he’s not expecting you already.”

“I guess,” Bucky shrugged even thought she couldn’t hear it. “Sometimes I think he’s worried he’ll scare me off again, y’know? He always talks about how grateful he is I’m even talking to him. Which is insane. He’s a doofus but only in the most self-sacrificing ways imaginable. It’s not like he’s the only one who thought this was an impossibility.”

“Well, he blamed himself for a long time,” Shuri reminded him gently.

Bucky huffed. “Yeah, don’t remind me. Getting him over THAT’s a process in and of itself.”

“Something SO much easier if you’re on the same coast, am I correct?” Shuri sing-songed. “And even easier with our _brother_ in the same city?”

Laughing, Bucky called her out. “What does T’Challa have to do with anything?”

“Oh hush, don’t kill my dream,” Shuri shushed him. “He’s our big brother, he can fix anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“What! He fixed you!” she replied with a laugh.

Bucky scoffed. “Shur, YOU fixed me. I exist to remind T’Challa he’s human. It’s what middle children are for.”

That cracked Shuri up, for some reason, and she laughed until Bucky couldn’t help it anymore and joined in. They settled down slowly as the brunette took stock of his surroundings. “Okay,” he steeled himself. “I’d better go in before someone notices a dude in nice duds and a baseball cap loitering with a duffel bag. I’ll get the NYPD called on me and that’s _not_ how I wanted to announce my presence today.” He blew out a nervous breath. “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need luck, Wolfie, but I hope you have it on your side anyway,” his best friend replied kindly.

“Thanks, Shuri. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Tell you how it went.”

Much love, Wolfie. Get some! A bientot!”

Bucky smiled, putting on an aggrivated tone for show. “Good! Bye! Shuri!" He hung up and took one last deep breath to call his nerves. Then he swiped off his hat, sticking it in his bag and fluffing up his hat-hair before heading into the show.

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sees the big picture.
> 
> Literally. Figuratively. Just... in general

 Bucky paid the cover fee, checked his bag with the very bored-looking coat check kid up front, and sidled up to the bar. He grabbed a whiskey sour and scanned the warehouse space for the familiar, hulking form of his, well, his not-NOT-boyfriend. God, they hadn’t even really figured that out and here he was ready to move halfway across the country… well, love always had made him do profoundly stupid things. Maybe this time it’d work out. He downed his drink, nabbed another, and began wandering around the show.

    The theme, as he and Steve had discussed in detail, was “Happiness is…” because lingering on the positive was apparently an important part of Steve’s classes. At least it seemed to be, because most of these pieces were incredible. Especially for students who were technically amateurs. There were landscapes and portraits, ink drawings of animals, sculptures of places and abstract shapes that simply conveyed senses of joy or movement. He paused in front of a mixed-media collage of photographs, print, and various textures that was particularly striking. The entire piece was centered around an anchor photo which appeared to be a wedding photo of… Bucky, leaned in to take a better look - Sam Wilson! And his wife… Maria? Yes. Maria. The bride, the groom, and the entire wedding party were jumping and grinning and generally looking like they were having a ball. (Bucky couldn’t help but smile fondly when he noticed Steve in the position of best man, just off Sam’s shoulder). The main photo was surrounded by others. There were photos of Maria, Air Force patches and signage from Penguin Publishing, a copy of a Bachelor’s degree from City College, and more photos of Sam in uniform or airman gear. Even more intriguing, there were other pictures of recognizably Wakandan landscapes, some others looking more like Germany, some in Japan, some in the desert. Most of the air force photos featured a man conspicuously absent from the wedding party and it made Bucky’s author-brain begin spinning stories of heartache and redemption…  _ I really needed to be better friends with this Sam Wilson character _ , he decided as he moved on to the next piece.

    He wandered through the show, half-searching for Steve and half-looking for other familiar faces. That is, until he found one - though not the one he was expecting. Bucky slunk into an alcove in the back of the showspace, slightly tucked away from the rest of the gallery due to how the temporary walls had been put up, and was confronted by his own face. Only… it wasn’t. He looked at the tag on the wall: “Heart and Soul” by Steven Rogers, acrylic and canvas. 

    The portrait’s likeness was breathtaking, and showed a version of himself far more beautiful than the face he confronted in the mirror every morning. Portrait-him’s face was slightly obscured by his own long hair, half-pulled-back like he usually wore it in his everyday life. Its eyes were downcast but a small, genuine smile hovered around its - his? - mouth and eyes. Stepping back and taking in the whole piece, Bucky started to see things more clearly. Painting-Bucky stood solidly, both bare feet planted confidently on a nondescript ground. A dark-brown cat the same color as his hair weaved around one of the figure’s ankles, looking up like it wanted nothing more than to be pet. Painting-him wore jeans and that soft, aquamarine t-shirt he’d pulled on before going to see Steve at the hotel (because it was soft and comfortable and comforting), but Bentley Harrison’s signature metal arm emerged from the left sleeve instead of his own. It crossed his body and grasped his right elbow, lending an air of vulnerability to the body language. The background of the piece was a strange, rough gradient from a deep, royal blue near the portrait’s feet to a rich, blood-red towards the top - a color scale that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. It took a much closer look for Bucky to realize the gradient of paint were actually delicately inked words. Small, nearly-impossible to decipher, written in snippets and phrases so that it was obvious they were there more for the artist than to be easily observed to any onlooker. Bucky leaned in so close his nose was almost to the canvas. Even then, in the slightly dim light of the alcove, he had to squint to make out bits and pieces. He recognized, with a warm excitement blooming in his chest, pieces of some of their text conversations from the past few months. Scattered amongst longer pieces of conversations were phrases that made him smile. Things like “The answer is yes,” “this is Kitty,” and over and over “It’s okay, I love you.” Then, across the center, taking up nearly the entirety of the background behind the figure in the center, he found a bit from  _ Snowfall _ that made his breath catch. He remembered this scene. (To a certain extent, it was to blame for both his success and his spiral):

    “Philip Grant frustrated and fascinated him and, in moments like this when the conversation veered into the hypothetical, Harrison could never really know the truth of things. He hated it, and the frustration he usually held such control over erupted, turned sour and vitriolic in lieu of violent.  “I can’t say I understand the urge, Phil. Though, to be clear, that’s with a lifetime memory of only eight weeks for context. Not that it’d matter... I’ve been twisted into so many knots, I’m not sure which I was born with and which were designed.” Bentley’s laugh was bitter. “To say I love you is to put your heart in the hands of another without recourse. It’s theirs to crush to dust or treasure like the most delicate of gifts. Men have been broken beyond repair or restored once more to life upon the replies to such a declaration. And so, Captain Grant, I ask you - would you ever open yourself to such vulnerability? To such depth of feeling? Knowing is one thing, a secret to be kept in the darkest corners of our hearts. But to have it be known? Are you even capable of such weakness, such bravery? To love so deeply that it would be worth everything simply to have it known?”  Captain Grant stepped up to Harrison, too close, and grabbed The Asset roughly by the front of his jacket. “I love you. Is that what you need to hear?” He shook Harrison a little, frustration and resolve tinged with a desperate anguish. “You think I’d have… I followed you halfway around the world, Ben. I fought for you -  _ with you _ \- when you didn’t even know your own name. And here I am now. I’m not going anywhere, I don’t want to. Not without you, you hear me? I will always find you, and I will always love you. Never doubt that.” Grant studied the Winter Soldier’s shocked expression for a moment, then pulled him in for a kiss that was much more gentle than Harrison expected considering the fist still holding his lapels in an iron grip. It was almost shy, soft but not hesitant, and he fell into it like falling into the ocean. Like falling backwards in time. It was a kiss that reminded him he was not a weapon, or a machine, or a mindless drone; he was a man. A man with his own will, capable of loving and living and who was currently embracing the only person he had ever freely offered his heart to. Miracle of miracles, after so many years his proffered offering had merely been exchanged in kind. He broke the kiss, gently pulling back, and placed the gun he’d been holding carefully on the table next to them. Then he looked at Captain Grant, in awe and rapture. “I love you,” he choked out. “They made me forget your face, but you’ve always been with me. Know that. I loved you before I had the words, and I love you still. I think you may be the only reason I’m still myself at all, so much of me was wrapped around parts of you.””

    Bucky sometimes cringed, reading his own writing. Out of context he tended to find it overwrought, but this was like seeing it for the first time. It’d been years since he’d revisited that scene with Philip and Bentley. God, he’d really put himself out there with that one, hadn’t he. And seeing it reflected back at him, in this context…

“Bucky??”

The brunette startled, jumping back from the painting. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, staring at Steve’s heart hung up on a wall for everyone to see. As he turned around and saw the blonde staring at him, it was clear why Steve hasn’t wanted to send pictures of what he’d been working on. The artist was terrified.

    Flanked on either side by Sam and Maria, Steve stood frozen in confusion and momentary terror as his eyes flitted from Bucky to the painting. It was simple enough from a distance, but there was no hiding that Bucky had been close enough to see the words that made up the otherwise-nondescript background. Words that turned a beautiful but simple portrait into something incredibly personal. The prompt for the show had been “Happiness is,” after all. And here was Steve’s answer, in living color for all to see. Bucky, in all his various incarnations, and the words that had connected them.

Suddenly all of Bucky’s nerves about moving to New York - about jumping into this for real - vaporized. Suddenly it didn’t seem so much like a leap of faith as much as the next step.

“Stevie, it’s amazing,” he breathed, breaking out with a genuine, radiant smile and stepping forward to envelop his big, nervous puppy in a hug. Steve responded automatically, one hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and one wrapping around his shoulders. As the author tried to step back, acutely aware that Steve’s friends were still  _ right there _ , Steve’s hand grabbed Bucky’s to keep him from getting too far away.

“You’re here,” Steve breathed like he couldn’t quite believe it. He searched Bucky’s face, a little awe-struck and a lot happy, and the brunette couldn’t help but lean back in to kiss him softly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss my Stevie’s big student show!” He squeezed his boyfriend’s hand (because yes, that was at least what they were) and nodded to Sam. “Now officially introduce me! Show me around, tell me everything!”

Steve shook himself and returned Bucky’s enthusiastic smile, turning to his friends.

“Oh! Yes! Of course! Buck, this is Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Bucky Barnes.” 

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and grabbed Sam’s, shaking it heartily. “Amazing to meet you in person, Wilson, for real. And uh, thanks. For having my six,” he enthused, shooting a sideways glance to the blonde next to them. Sam smiled wide - a rare thing.

“Course! Course! And this is my amazing wife, Maria Hill.”

Bucky turned and grabbed her outstretched hand in both of his. “Absolute pleasure, Ma’am.”

Maria laughed. “Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Barnes,” she replied gracefully. Then she pivoted, navigating the uncharted waters like a pro. “Now Steve, tell us about your piece!” she prompted.

In that moment, Maria Hill reminded Bucky viscerally of Shuri, and suddenly he couldn’t wait for his life in Brooklyn to start.

 _One step at a time_ , his Rational James Barnes Voice reminded him as Steve blushed lightly and looked askance at Bucky. He was clinically describing how he constructed the painting and, the author noticed, conspicuously NOT mentioning the text in the background. _Show first, make sure Steve’s not freaked out by the potential move to NYC, THEN the whole first-day-of-the-rest-of-our-lives thing._

For now, Bucky was gonna watch his Stevie geek out over his therapy students’ art.

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tells Steve about moving to New York

 

It was hours before the two men got a few minutes to themselves. Steve had insisted over and over again that Bucky didn’t _need_ to stay; that he should amuse himself in the city, that Steve would call when everything was cleaned and wrapped up for the night, or they’d see one another in the morning. Bucky was having none of it, and the half-hearted attempts at convincing him followed by badly-hidden smiles when he refused only strengthened his resolve throughout the evening. He’d played arm candy after he’d gotten the grand tour, then helped bid the various attendees adieu and wordlessly grabbed a broom to help Steve clean up as the bartenders packed up.

    Long past sunset and finally alone in the space, Bucky wandered back to Steve’s painting as the artist let the last of the bartenders out the door and slowly locked up. He sidled up behind Bucky and hooked his chin over the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about this,” he said softly, leaning his head against long, brown hair. Bucky snuffed out a little laugh.

“I’m not mad. Hell, this shit’s maybe the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Steve pretended to be put out. “More than flying across the country for you?”

Scoffing, Bucky turned around and looped his arms around Steve’s neck. “Okay, first off - it was _halfway_ across the country. Second, it’s only such a big deal because you’d apparently become a Brooklyn-hermit. And third, you only did that because you were panicking, and this took _way_ more effort and thought. So yes, this beats that. By a figurative mile. Besides,” he tipped his head to the piece. “If this is how you see me, how you actually… it’s like looking at a diary. And that’s… that’s scary. For you. For me. But it makes everything else so much easier.”

“Makes what easier?” Steve searched the man’s face in front of him, puzzled. Bucky stole one last glance over his shoulder at the portrait, then met Steve’s eyes.

“Shuri’s leaving Chicago,” he stated frankly.

“Uhhhh….” was Steve’s befuddled response.

“And without her there, well… I love the city, but there’s nothing real solid holding me there, y’know? So I would probably wanna be close to family. And the At’Chakas, you know - they’re my family.”

Steve nodded. (He’d learned much about Bucky’s adoption by the At’Chaka siblings and, subsequently, their actual parents. Part of him had hoped he’d have the opportunity to get close to Bucky’s adopted family in the same way Bucky had become a second son to Sarah. But if Shuri was leaving Chicago… Steve swallowed over a lump in his throat.) “So… are you… are you following her home?”

Bucky saw the impending doom on Steve’s face. Poor man had probably immediately assumed they were all moving back to Birnin Zana or something. Fondness and something else - something bright and lighter than air - welled up in the author and he couldn’t hold back a grin. “T’Chaka’s ambassadorship to the UN was just finalized by the parliment. He’ll be here, most of the time at least, for the next five years. Shuri wants to be closer to him. So… I guess it’s more they’re following _me_ home? If… uh… unless that kinda… I don’t wanna freak you out or nothin.” He tried to pull away, ducking his head as a sudden attack of nerves flooded his body. Steve was having none of it, and Bucky soldiered on. “I just, I know you said you expected me to go pretty slow, and so maybe going from long-distance to, to… what?” His nerves started to ease as he squinted accusingly at the blonde in his arms.

Steve was laughing silently, eyes bright and shoulders shaking. From the back he could have looked like he was crying, but his smile couldn’t be suppressed. He took note of Bucky's suspicious glare and responded with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Bucky, Jesus. You scared the hell outta me you little-”

“What!”

But Steve couldn’t answer, silent laughter giving way to a real voiced chuckle that finally pulled Bucky in too. Still, the author wouldn’t let it go. “What!” he demanded through a wide smile. He ducked his face down into Steve’s eyeline and the blonde surprised him by catching him in a joyful, laughter-sweet kiss instead. He wrapped his arms around the only-slightly-smaller-thanks Bucky and spun them both, sweeping the latter’s feet out from under him and causing his arms to tighten reflexively around the illustrator’s shoulders.

“AAHH! Jesus, Steve! Why!” He was placed delicately back on the ground and slapped Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t do that, I’m a full-grown man! Like I need a reminder you’re ginormous now, Christ! Give me a heart attack, why don’t’cha! Don’t laugh at me!” He glared unconvincingly as Steve dove in for another kiss he couldn’t help smile through.

“You loved it.”

Bucky tried to glare again and failed spectacularly, unable to deny it.

Steve kissed him again for good measure, hands on either side of his face, before pulling back and just staring happily. “Bucky, were you worried I’d be freaked out if you moved to the same city as me?” he asked in disbelief.

Bucky closed off just a little, unconsciously trying to step back and cross his arms across his chest. It was a move he only noticed because Steve gently but firmly held him steady and arrested his retreat. “I dunno, maybe? It’s… y’know. It’s real. If I’m here, it’s real. I…” He glanced at the painting again and the tension in his shoulders palpably lessened.

Steve just laughed again, staring at Bucky for a beat in what could only be described as awe-struck excitement until Bucky became uncomfortable and started to fidget. “What! I thought maybe you-”

“Stop,” insisted Steve, suddenly all sincerety. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear and made the other man meet his eyes with a soft finger under his chin. It was possible Bucky Barnes had never felt so acutely vulnerable and so incredibly safe at the same time in his life. The happiness was still there, in Steve’s eyes and smile, but he’d settled and his tone was deadly serious. “Bucky, I’m ready for real. I’ll take anything you’ll give me, and gladly. I’m in love with you for god sake. I can only hope you feel the same. Hell, you could move in with me, if you lost your mind enough to try it.”

Bucky blinked rapidly and smirked a self-deprecatingly. “Yeah... See, you say that now. I’m ridiculous. I can’t even have a roommate because I’m so weird about my kitchen, and I-”

“Bucky. Stop,” Steve interrupted softly. “We’ve all got stuff, nobody’s perfect. But I’m gonna work at this every day. We both know what I’m gonna ask you one day - not today, obviously,” he clarified when he felt Bucky’s breath stop, then quirked an eyebrow. “I could, though. Because I’m sure, Buck. And I think you are too, somewhere in there, or you wouldn’t have told me what you did in Chicago. You’re my love story, no matter how it ends.” He used the gentle finger under Bucky’s chin to pull him in for a gentle kiss, like a reassurance, then continued. “Though I hope we do the difficult thing and live long, boring, deliriously mundane lives together. Because you make everything an adventure, and I love you. Always have, always will.” He booped their noses together lightly, then added. "Besides, I'm the reason you're so obsessive about your kitchen in the first place, I should have no problem living with it when the time comes."

Bucky gaped for a few seconds, trying to respond but ultimately concluding that any noise he made would just be the precursor to a sob. So he went for the second best option and ran his fingers up Steve’s neck, bringing him down for a kiss he only hoped could convey some of the relief, joy, love, and hope that had overwhelmed his ability to speak. Pulling away minutely after doing his best to kiss the taller man senseless, he smiled. “You little shit, I thought I was the one who made a living with words. That’s just not fair,” he muttered against pliant lips.

Steve huffed, amused. “What can I say, I was inspired.”

Bucky kissed him again, brief and delicious. “Well, I’m just letting you know now - I’m stealing that. Congratulations, you just made the book.”

“I thought I was already in the book,” Steve teased.

“Shut up and kiss me, Stevie,” Bucky replied. It was meant to sound sassy, but a hint of his need for reassurance crept into his tone. So Steve grabbed him firmly in a kiss that made him literally forget where he was for a moment. When it was over they broke apart slowly, blinking in the unexpectedly bright light of the improvised gallery. Neither seemed particularly keen on letting the other go completely and their hands remained connected as Steve checked hs watch and blanched slightly. “Oof, we’re gonna miss the last train if we keep this up. Or, well…” he looked at Bucky only a little uncertainty. “That is, if you were planning on… I don’t want to assume. If you’ve got other accommodations, I’m happy to walk you to your hotel. Or.. uh…”

For some reason, Bucky found this sudden fit of self-doubt hilarious and burst into a fit of laughter that had Steve joining him in seconds. They laughed loud and hard, heads thrown back, until tears streamed down both their faces and their sides hurt. Finally, laughter easing, Steve was able to speak. “Okay, okay, probably a dumb question.”

Bucky, still trying to get a hold of himself, barely managed a “yah” in response.

They were both still dealing with random fits of laughter as they grabbed their various bags, shut off the lights, and locked the doors behind them.

 

    Standing in the beautiful early-September night, Steve clapped his hands. “Whew!” He took a deep breath, finally leaving the laughter behind but retaining the bright smile and sparkling eyes. He turned to Bucky, lit by streetlight and so unexpectedly striking. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Ready to head out?”

Bucky grinned in response and reached for his hand, hitching his duffel higher on his other shoulder. “Take me home, Stevie,” he instructed. “I wanna see where you live.”

And who was Steve to resist an order like that?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, everyone - I'm gonna be in the air for about 12 hours so there probably won't be an update until at least Wednesday Evening (USA Pacific Time). 
> 
> On the plus side, with a day of travelling by myself ahead of me, I'll have no excuses not to finish the *ehem* scene that solidifies the M rating. (I am The Procrastinator of Love Scenes, for sure). But poor boys deserve to blow off some steam, lol.
> 
> (I'll contain it to a chapter and make it easily skippable, tho. It's why I'm adding a ch to the total #).
> 
> MUCH LOVE TO ALL!!! Thanks for getting this far with me :- ) :-) <3 <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Per Shuri's advice, Bucky "get(s) some"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the smutty section starts!!!!!!!!
> 
> Sorry I was gone for like a whole week. Many reasons. (this ch being one of them, honestly. Also internet is spotty when you're moving).  
> I'm 100% the worst about writing love scenes. BUT this is it. 
> 
> And if you're NOT INTERESTED in the smutty chapter - Have No Fear!!!   
> Very little important plot development happens here, so just skip on over to the next chapter and resume from there! :-)

 

 

 

By the time they made it to Steve’s 4th floor walkup it was earlier than it was late, but Steve still tried to be a good host and made tea while Bucky showered quickly. The author had laughed again when Steve offered to sleep on the couch and give Bucky the bed. Then it was Steve’s turn in the bathroom while Bucky wandered around the apartment with his tea, getting into everything like the nosy bastard he was.

    Having officially decided Steve was taking too long, and in the process of deciding if barging into the shower regardless would be considered creepy or delightful, Bucky started and nearly dropped his cup when the blonde finally emerged. Hot damn! If Bucky had thought the glimpse of sleepy-shirtless-Steve had been fueling his fantasies, just-showered-in-only-boxer-briefs-Steve had him literally speechless. (That was twice in a single evening, which was not an easy thing to accomplish.) 

 

 

    Steve had stepped out of the bathroom in an only-slightly-calculated fit of self-confidence, but felt immediately uneasy once he noticed Bucky staring so blatantly at him. He quirked an eyebrow, gesturing to his state of undress. “Is this okay? I mean, I can put on a-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” was Bucky’s slightly feral-sounding reply, setting his mug down on the nearest flat surface with a dull clink. Then he swept his own t-shirt off in one fluid motion and practically tackled Steve. (Not that Steve minded.) 

    Their lips met in a rush as Steve’s back hit the closed bathroom door, then they stumbled the half-dozen feet to the bed all the while trying their best to climb on top of one another. Steve won, with Bucky’s back hitting the bed with a satisfying thud, though his head ended up pillowed by the hand buried in his hair. The feeling of so much bare skin on skin was overwhelming to both of them, punching a satisfied groan out of the brunette as their legs tangled and Steve let his weight settle over the bed. 

“Oh my God, Stevie.” he moaned into a hungry kiss, then let out another sound somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp when the artist’s fingers tightened unconsciously in his hair. Steve pulled back suddenly, letting go and pulling away to put his weight on his elbows. “Sorry, sorry,” he breathed, chuckling a little as Bucky’s fingers scrambled at his bare shoulders in an attempt to keep him close. The man beneath him blinked owlishly, eyes going a little crossed as he finally focused on the blue eyes above him, then crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. 

“What in god’s name are you apologizing for?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Steve flushed high in his cheeks and broke eye contact. “Got a little carried away there, sorry,” he replied bashfully. Bucky was having none of it. Unable to pull his stoically unreasonable boyfriend down to resume kissing, he rose up and nipped at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Then he pressed his hips up against Steve, making the man above him hiss. 

“I guarantee I’m enjoying all of this. Did you think I wasn’t?” he asked against the skin above Steve’s collarbone. He punctuated the question with an open mouthed kiss to the area. The blonde’s head dipped and he settled against Bucky again, still holding himself up a bit with his elbows but chasing the feeling of warm skin on skin. 

“Nuh, no. No, But Bucky, I-” Bucky pulled back to make sure they had eye contact. He frowned a little, hands turning gentle and rubbing some soothing circles on the backs of Steve’s shoulder blades.   
“Hey, you okay? We don’t… We can just sleep. If you don’t want to-”

Steve cut him off with a kiss that curled Bucky’s toes, then pulled away and buried his face in that familiar alcove of his neck. This time, the blonde took the opportunity to discover how it tasted, licking and then worrying the skin there with his teeth before he responded. “No, I -I want. Jesus, Buck, do I want this. But I, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop if we... “ He ran his tongue up the tendon on the side of the brunette’s neck, then sucked a harsh bruise into the skin under his ear. Bucky made a wounded sound and arched into Steve’s mouth and hips at the same time. His hand flew to the back of Steve’s head, holding him against the side of his neck as he gasped out his reply. “I-I-I see zero problem with that. Anything. Anything. I love you, sweetheart, we can… anything.”

Steve let out what could only be described as a growl and bit down just this side of painful on the abused skin he’s been working on, letting his full weight finally settle on the man below him. Bucky grasped desperately at Steve’s back with the hand not settled in blonde hair, braced his feet against the mattress, and leveraged his hips off the bed - up, up, chasing sparking friction they were generating between them. Steve got with the program immediately, pressing himself down, and suddenly they had established an intoxicating rhythm. They moved together slowly but steadily as Steve worked his way slowly down Bucky’s neck and over his collarbone with his lips, teeth, and tongue. He sucked another bruise into the skin just above the author’s heart before he was tugged back up into a kiss that was all deep thrusts of tongue against tongue. They panted against one another’s mouths, exchanging hungry kisses and trying to get as close as physically possible. Steve’s right hand traced a fiery trail down Bucky’s side until it met the elastic of his pajama bottoms. His fingers traced the top of the waistband, causing the abdominal muscles to flutter involuntarily, before they dipped below the elastic just below his belly button. Bucky’s ankle hooked around Steve’s calf, bringing them impossibly closer, as Steve’s clever fingers brushed against hard flesh. Then he took the author fully in hand, and Bucky broke their kiss to throw his head back into the mattress. “Oh! Okay, Uh…,” he sounded surprised, even to his own ears. “Oh god, I... I’m not complaining.  _ Opposite _ of complaining, but ah…. Yeahhh, I’m not gonna last for shit if you keep-” He broke off with a whine as Steve tightened his grip, stroking him once and staring at him with an intense, self-satisfied look on his face. “Seriously, Stevie,” he gasped, not really terribly convincing as he lifted his hips against the pressure and pressed his own thigh to assist Steve’s own erection, hot steel through the thin layers separating them. Steve met the pressure in kind, grinding down and moving his hand up and down more steadily against Bucky. Then he returned his mouth to that intoxicating spot just below the brunette’s ear, which was just not fair. “Its okay, Buck. Let go. We’ve got all night,” he muttered, ramping up his ministrations like the very idea of Bucky losing control excited him. “Besides,” he bit Bucky’s earlobe and some of the breathless desperation the author was being consumed by finally seemed to be reflected back in Steve’s voice. “Besides - this is good. Because I want you to last later… when you’re inside me. Will you? Will you do that for me?”

“Oh Goddd.” And just like that, any chance Bucky had at keeping his climax at bay was officially over. Done. He was checked out, hurtling towards orgasm and there was no saving this. “Yes, yes, Stevie.”

“You’re so gorgeous. Fuck, come on, baby, I wanna see you come apart. That's it, baby, that's it.” 

Bucky couldn’t say anything anymore. All he could manage were little, encouraging noises as they writhed together. Then Steve did this thing with his wrist and Bucky was pulsing in Steve’s hand, clutching him close and burying his face in the shoulder above him. He felt like might have screamed, but was pretty sure the only noise he made was a guttural “Ahhh” like he’s been punched in the stomach. Steve’s hand kept moving- slowing down gradually - as the author shook and then gingerly unwrapped himself from the artist above him. Steve followed his movements, lazily removing his hand and perfunctorily cleaning it off on his own hip before leaning in to kiss Bucky languidly while they came down. As the rushing in his ears ebbed and his vision cleared, Bucky noticed Steve was still hot and hard against his leg. He started to reach down between them when Steve caught first one hand, then the other and slowly lifted them up over Bucky’s head, pinning them to the mattress with interlaced fingers. The brunette raised an inquisitive eyebrow and Steve - if possible - flushed even darker. “I, um… I’m okay with waiting,” he muttered, diving in to kiss Bucky gently.

“Mmm?” the author wasn’t letting that go so easily.

Steve, eyes still closed, pulled back. “I, um… I’d rather just, um… almost, but, y’know. Not. Like, until the end.” He opened his eyes, a bit of concern creeping into his expression. “Unless you think that’s weird. Then we can totally-”

Bucky smiled, delighted. “Straight-laced Stevie likes to ride the edge, huh?”

Steve scrunched his eyes tightly closed, but couldn’t hide his smile. “Buck, I’ve literally never been straight-laced.”

“Coulda fooled me!” Bucky rose up, kissing his cheek quickly. “That’s more than okay, Sweetheart. That’s awesome.” He laughed, a little self-deprecating, and flopped boneless back on to the bed, blinking some more to better orient himself. “You’ll just have to forgive me if I make you wait a little bit while I… ah…  _ recover _ from that. Because holy shit, who taught you to talk like that in bed? And would it be weird if I bought them a fruit basket?”

Steve buried his face in Bucky’s chest bashfully and muttered something in response that Bucky couldn’t parse. 

“What’s that?” he asked, gentle tease evident but genuinely curious.

Steve repeated himself a little louder, but still into Bucky’s pectoral muscle and it was still indistinguishable. He laughed.

“Sweetheart, what-”

Steve lifted his head just enough that he wasn’t speaking into skin. “FANFICTION,” he repeated again, then looked at the man below him like he dared Bucky to laugh. 

The author, for his part, looked let out an amused - but quickly stifled - huff, but also looked surprised and contemplative. 

“Huh,” he smiled. Then he used their intertwined fingers to squeeze Steve’s hands reassuringly. “Well. Far be it for me to judge where and how you learned to push basically all my buttons. Jeez, I may need to brush up, because that was…” he trailed off with a smirk and squeezed Steve’s hands again. Then tipped his chin to half-request, half-demand a kiss. Steve moved up his body to oblige, shifting his only-slightly-flagging erection against Bucky’s upper thigh. Bucky tensed his leg, adding a bit of pressure, and Steve’s breath hissed into the otherwise gentle embrace. 

    They stayed that was for a while, making out deeply and unhurried. Steve held Bucky’s hands pinned to the mattress above his head and Bucky periodically pushed against the hold, thrilling at the ease with which he was held in place. (It was a gentle hold, and they both knew he could break it in a moment if he wanted. It was what made the pleasant struggle so intoxicating). Steve rutted lightly against Bucky as they kissed until the slow simmer of afterglow they’d been basking in had ramped back up into something more acute, more active. Steve started moving a bit more urgently, and Bucky untangled their hands, moving instead to settle palms on the blonde’s hips. 

“God, Stevie. How’re you still - Get these off.” He hooked his thumbs in the elastic of Steve’s boxer briefs and pulled them down as far as he could. Finally, the larger man rolled off him and to the side, kicking off his bottoms as Bucky scrambled with his own hopeless pajama bottoms. Taking full advantage of the fact that Steve was on his back, Bucky climbed on top of him and began kissing a wet trail from just behind his ear down to his chest. Steve leant back, getting lost in the sensation and running his hands over any and every inch of the other man’s skin he could reach. He reveled as he felt Bucky arch into his touch as palms skimmed his back on either side of his spine. Then the brunette found one of Steve’s nipples and his flat palms unconsciously transitioned into blunt nails raking up either side of Bucky’s back. The author groaned, arching even more into the touch, and worried the flesh around Steve’s nipple lightly with his tongue before moving further down. He left a wet trail down to Steve’s hip, before he lifted his head and asked quickly, “Do you have… uh…”

In lieu of a verbal response, Steve just twisted in a surprising manner, grabbed something, then tossed a condom and lubricant down the bed. Smiling at his partner’s enthusiasm, Bucky grinned. “Thanks!” he replied, then resumed his previous track.

    Steve was beyond words at this point, lost in the feel of Bucky’s mouth slowly tracking down his body. So when the mouth he was so fixated on licked a stripe up his erection then swallowed it down, he was both prepared and utterly blindsided by the wall of sensation he experienced. Then there was the added feeling of fingers slowly, gently opening him up and he just tipped his head back and enjoyed himself. The blonde didn’t realize it, but he kept a running commentary of sounds and encouragements and terribly, terribly filthy phrases that were ramping Bucky back up with troubling ease. The spell was broken when, after anywhere from five minutes to ten hours - Steve really hadn’t the slightest idea how fast time was passing right now - Bucky pulled away and kissed the blonde back into the present. Now it was the illustrator’s turn to blink up into smiling brown eyes, resurfacing from wherever he’d been.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered fondly. “You still with me?”

“I love you,” Steve breathed, not really thinking about his response before the words escaped. Bucky flushed, pleased, then kissed the tip of Steve’s nose.

“I love you too. Now, you think you can turn over? I think… I think this might work better if-”

The man beneath him rolled over in place, settled down over his own bent knees, and stuck a pillow under his chest for good measure before Bucky could finish his sentence. He crowded up against Steve’s back, biting at his deltoid and settling his chest against the wide expanse of skin. He ran possessive hands down Steve’s arms, then back up and down his back, dropping kisses down his spine and delighting in the goosebumps that rose after each light brush of lips. Then he slipped on the condom and leaned forward, nose in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. “You ready?” he asked, and the blonde under his nodded immediately.

   Everything was slightly uncomfortable pressure for a moment, like it always was. But then Bucky started rocking so very slowly and so very gently and it took every ounce of Steve’s willpower not to beg for more. More anything, more everything, just… more.  The author curled around so the entirety of his bare chest against Steve’s broad back and, positioned like this, Bucky was able to enfold him nearly entirely despite their height difference. Bucky drew a path of open-mouthed kisses across Steve’s upper back and up the side of his neck, fingers tracing nonsense-patterns up his side and across his abdomen. And still, no matter what else was happening, maintained that agonizingly slow, deep rhythm that pulled them down together into sticky-sweet, dark pleasure. One of Steve’s hands grasped for something to hold and landed on Bucky’s wrist, hand braced against the mattress. The brunette shifted a bit, allowing Steve to hold on to his fingers while still holding himself up. The other hand also shifted, this one to Steve’s hip, to hold him still where he was starting to rock backwards into Bucky. It was infuriating, in an breathless way, to be held back like that. Then again, it was a gentle enough hand that he knew he could fight it in a moment. Steve chose to relax under Bucky’s guiding hand on his hip, letting out a whine as he did so that elicited a deep, rumbling groan from the chest still plastered to his back. Steve relaxed and floated on the edge, the slow, steady in and out driving him mindless. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He could feel  _ everything _ but it wasn’t  _ enough _ . Finally, not even Bucky could take the slow, deep friction any more and fell forward with a bit more force. Steve let out a deep groan, punched out of place inside of him he didn’t know existed. He grabbed Bucky’s hand and put it on his shoulder, encouraging him to pull the entirety of Steve’s body into himself, and the change of angle knocked the breath out of both of them. Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve’s upper back and picked up the pace, swearing and muttering into the hot skin beneath his lips. “Jesus, Stevie, look at you. So good, so good, yes… ughhh, the things you do to me, Stevie, damn...” He pressed a kiss to the skin he’d been speaking into, and Steve reached around to hook a hand around the back of his neck.

“Harder, please. Bucky, god, I’m… I’m… so-” He broke off with a choked sound and Bucky pulled out abruptly, wrenching himself bodily away from Steve while the blonde tried to catch up with what was happening. The brunette was pushing at Steve’s hips. “Lie down, Stevie. On your back, on your back.”

“Huh?” was all Steve could manage as he blindly followed Bucky’s instructions. But then he was on his back, and a pillow was under his low back, and Bucky was crowding him back into the mattress with a deep, searching kiss.

“I wanna see you. I wanna kiss you. When you fall apart, I wanna see it. See you,” he explained as he ravished Steve’s mouth. Understanding suddenly, Steve hitched his knees high on Bucky’s waist and they began to move together again. The brunette pushed in -  _ oh god  _ \- and hit a spot that lit up Steve like a firework.

“Ahh!!”

It was almost too much, but Steve never wanted it to stop. Bucky, for his part, grinned all teeth and went about finding that spot over and over and over and over again. Steve was flying. The friction and heat and the feeling of being enveloped by someone who he truly loved and loved him back was more than he could take. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling, Bucky’s unthinking words reaching his ears in bits and pieces as they both moved with an increasing wildness.    
“Steve, god, look at you, ahh. Need you to come with me. Stevie, sweetheart… gonna… wanna see you. Please Love, yes, like that, yesss.”

Falling apart in Bucky’s arms seemed the most logical thing to do. And so he did. Steve’s back arched like a bow and he wrapped himself around Bucky so hard he was surprised the other man continued to move above him. He hovered at the edge for another agonizing, blissful moment, then exploded with a scream rather more high-pitched than he’d thought he was capable of. He felt his own climax pull Bucky over the edge again, the brunette catching Steve in a brutal kiss, and they both rode out the aftershocks before collapsing in a heap.

 

    They were still a tangle of limbs and soft kisses and gentle touches as the afterglow very slowly dissipated and Steve sighed happily. Bucky bumped their foreheads together lightly, then kissed Steve’s nose before he pulled away. The groggy blonde made grabby-hands and Bucky laughed a tired laugh. 

“Don’t worry, Stevie, I’m not goin’ anywhere. ‘M just getting a washcloth.”

“Mmmmmm,” was the artist’s response, as he settled down into the pillows.

    By the time Bucky came back, Steve was breathing evenly. He’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom, but sat down gingerly on the bed and cleaned up Steve’s front. Then handed the cloth to the barely-conscious blonde and settled himself into bed while his boyfriend made himself comfortable. They wrapped around one another and were both asleep before they had time to say goodnight.

  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Of Teh Sexin'!
> 
> Next chapter is the actual plot-part of them going to Steve's house, then an Actual Epilogue and then DONZO!!!!!  
> WHAAAAAAATTTTTTTT


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking logistics and starting the rest of one's life

 

    It was nearly noon by the time both Bucky and Steve made it out of bed the next morning. Considering neither of them tended to sleep much past seven, both privately felt as though they were celebrating something. (Though that didn’t stop Steve from ribbing a sleepy Bucky the next morning when he stumbled, barefoot and in yesterday’s jeans, into the kitchen).

“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” he sing-songed fondly from where he was making coffee. Bucky stretched then walked up to Steve, snaking arms around his waist and burying a yawn in the soft t-shirt material at the base of his neck.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who slept in,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck. “Besides, considering the events of the last 24 hours, I’m surprised either of us is upright and conscious.”

Steve smiled, leaning backwards into the circle of Bucky’s arms, and ran a hand lightly along the forearm spanning his abdomen.

“Is that why you’re in your jeans from the plane?”

Bucky snorted, the warm puff of air moving the hair on Steve’s neck and raising gooosebumps. “I’m in my jeans because _somebody_ decided I didn’t need to lose my pajama pants until _after_ they made a mess of me last night.” The brunette’s attempt at a stern admonishment was utterly undercut by the smile in his voice. Steve still blushed a little, but Bucky eased his embarrassment with a gentle kiss to the back of his neck and a squeeze around his waist. Then the author sighed, burrowing gently into the place between Steve’s shoulders. “This is nice,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes. Steve stood still, enjoying the moment, before the coffeemaker dinged and they both straightened up, going about procuring their morning caffeine.

    Sitting across from one another, sipping coffee at what passed for Steve’s dining room table, Bucky looked lost in thought. After a few minutes of nothing but sips and the sounds of the city outside, the author took a deep breath.

“You know it’s a terrible idea for me to move in with you straight from Chicago, right?” He looked down and played with the handle of his mug. “Like… I’m pretty sure you were joking yesterday? But I just wanna make sure. Y’know, that we’re on the same page. So to speak…” He took another drink then stared into his swirling cup like it would respond instead of the blonde across the table. Steve, of course, smiled easily.

“Oh, oh god - yeah! No, I… of course. I absolutely meant it when I said it was insane. I mean, if you wanted to, like, it wouldn’t be…” Steve’s mind drifted momentarily to how content he’d felt in the kitchen, making coffee as Bucky wrapped around him, how calm he’d felt waking up next to him that morning, then shook his head to get back to the present. “But yeah. It’s pretty patently insane. You should definitely find, y’know… a place for you. And if I happened to, I dunno, help you find a place? That wouldn’t be… the worst.”

A smile twitched Bucky’s lips sideways, resolving into a sly smirk.  “I mean, don’t worry. I’ll still be here. Like… a lot.” He looked around, smirk melting into a genuine smile. “Cuz I’m… I’m moving back. We’re gonna do this for real.” He whipped his head back to Steve, excited grin lighting up his entire face. “We’re doing this for real??”

Steve grinned back. “We’re doing this for real.”

The two of them finished their coffee in relative silence, grinning like idiots at one another across the table, until Bucky started suddenly. “I need to call Shuri!”

Looking at the time, Steve winced. “Yeah, I should probably head back to the venue and make sure everyone’s been able to pick up their stuff. And that we actually got _paid_ for anything that sold.” He thought for a moment, weighing out something, then reached a decision and peeled off to rummage in one of the drawers of the kitchen. He came back with something clutched in his fist, and stuck out his hand awkwardly. “Here.”

Bucky held out his hand and Steve dropped two keys on a small keyring into his palm. He pointed, pressing the metal into the author’s skin. “This one’s the building, this one’s the front door. Don’t lose ‘em before I find a place to get another copy made or the super’ll skin me alive.”

Bucky bit his lips to swallow a grin. “Why’d you need a copy? I can just give you this back when I leave for Chicago again.”

Steve blew out a forced-casual breath and waved it away. “Eh, nah. You keep it, I need an extra set anyway.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow in a way that reminded Steve uncomfortably of Sam. “You’re trying really hard to be casual right now, aren’t you?”

Caught out, all the larger man could do was nod and curse the blush he felt creeping up his neck.

Bucky stood, pocketing the keys, and looped his arms around Steve’s neck. “You’re giving me a key to your place?”

Again, Steve nodded a small, jerky nod. But Bucky was playing with the hair at the base of his skull, and it was hard to keep his smile buried beneath his thundering heartbeat. The brunette leaned close.

“I promise not to lose your key,” he assured softly, sealing the declaration with a soft kiss. Steve couldn’t help but push.   
“And to use it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, I’m gonna frame it - Yes, I’m gonna use it. Ridiculous little-” Steve cut off whatever creatively fond rant was about to take place with a deep kiss of his own. It tasted like coffee and honey and he wanted it every morning.

  


====================================================

 

    It was a solid hour before Steve was presentable enough to head out into public. Longer for Bucky, since he had to find where he’d thrown his duffel the night before and shower again once Steve was out of the bathroom. Once the artist was gone, being his productive and professional self, Bucky had called Shuri. She’d shrieked in glee when he’d told her where he was, and correctly assumed he’d followed her advice when she realized it was after noon and he still hadn’t really started his day.

 

“So you took it for a test drive? I told you it’s a critical part of this decision-making process, what did I say? And-”

As scandalized as he wanted to be, Bucky could only laugh. “Shuri! God! No, I… I mean, well, kind of. Yes. Like… if you buy an Aston Martin, then drive it round the Nurburgring your first time out. You’re already bought the thing, but damn you have fun in that car.”

Then it was Shuri’s turn to laugh. “You need to stop watching Grand Tour, that Clarkson character is a bad influence on you.”

“Hey, how do you think I humanized Howard and Arnim’s friendship, huh? Say what you will, that man loves Richard Hammond.”

“You’re a nerd. A nerd who just got laid by a supercar, apparently - I may not be able to take you being this happy all the time, just a for-your-information. It’s disconcerting.”

“That’s okay. You and Sam can commiserate on how annoyingly perky Steve and I are while we’re still in the honeymoon period, then comfort us on the inevitable crash.”

Bucky could practically hear Shuri’s eyeroll. “Wolfie, you and I both know the crash already happened. Get ready to be unreasonably happy for the foreseeable future. It will be my and T’Challa’s jobs to yank your head out of the clouds when you need it, I can tell already. Speaking of which,” she cleared her throat, obviously transitioning into Agent At’Chaka. “What’s the plan for relocation. I take it the initial pitch went well, you need me to tell the realtor to look for a place for you too?”

Bucky’s hand went to the keys in his pocket, playing with them as he thought. “Uh, yeah… yeah. Tell them… tell them I’m putting my stuff in storage for a while, so I’m okay if it takes a while to find the right place.”

“Wolfie….” Shuri warned, tone cautious.

“I’m not backing out, Shur, don’t worry. And I’m not moving in with him either that’s… hah, that’s crazy.” The last part didn’t sound super convincing, even to his own ears, but at least he’d gotten the words out. When all he got in response was a skeptical huff over the line, he had to press on. “Listen, T’Challa’s got a three-bedroom rented for him and he’s hardly there. If I stick all my shit in a Pod, I can take my time, find a permanent place, and never have to move again. You know how I am.”

That won her over. “For someone who is able to pick up and go on a moment’s notice, you are patently the most difficult relocator I have ever encountered.”

“It’s just one of my many endearing personality quirks,” he snarked back with a smile.

“So when are you coming home and packing all your stuff into a cocoon?”

Bucky snorted. “Pod! It’s a brand, they… you know what? Never mind. I like cocoon better.” He thought for a moment. “I think I’ll be home by Wednesday. And I’ll aim to be back by launch. What’s your timeline? Does that sound okay to you?”

He could hear Shuri vacillating on the other end of the line.

“I think I could manage that. I might take a bit more time - the lease on my place isn’t out for a couple months, and unlike _someone_ I do not want to share an apartment with BOTH of my brothers for longer than I have to. As much as I love you, I love you more when I can’t hear you from my bedroom.”

Bucky bit his lip. “Yeah… I…. guarantee that’s more the case NOW than ever before.”

“Why? I…. Oh! James! No! Why! Ugh!”

Her brother cackled as he heard his insinuation have the desired effect. “What! You asked me - And I Quote! If I took it for a test drive!”

“Yes, it’s funny when I make _you_ uncomfortable. You’re not supposed to do it back! Yesh!”

“It’s perfectly natural, Shuri, I don’t know why you’d-”

“Perfectly natural, perfectly natural, you know what else is perfectly natural? My hair! That doesn’t mean I subject you to my haircare routine when you’re trying to sleep - No! Ugh, I’m having flashbacks to junior year in college, blech.”

Bucky continued to cackle in triumph until Shuri managed to get his attention with arrangements for them all to meet for dinner later.

 

    Bucky lounged around Steve’s apartment for a couple of hours until he returned in the early evening, all apologies that he’d taken so long. (The author had allayed any fears he had by showing him the chapter and a half he’d completed of the new _Guardians of the Galaxy_ story he was trying to finish). When Bucky casually invited Steve to come to dinner with him and Shuri, and maybe see if Sam and Maria wanted to join, Steve stopped and blinked for a moment.

“Steve? You having an absence seizure, man, what’s up?” Bucky laughed.

For his part, Steve just laughed and swept Bucky in a sincere hug. “I’m just happy.” he replied.

Bucky relaxed into the embrace. “I’m happy too.”

 

And if happiness turned out to be a bit of an understatement later that evening, seeing Sam and T'Challa laughing together over a beer while Shuri and Maria proceeded to get along like a house on fire, well, that was just fine with Bucky. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gents - next chapter will be an epilogue of sorts so ASK ANY QUESTIONS YOU WANT ANSWERED in the comments and I'll see if I can get them tied up in a fluffy little bow.


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